


Love and Other Neurotransmitters

by starfirefighter



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Closeted Character, Coming of Age, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Junhui is a cinnamon roll, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Wonwoo is a very confused bean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:55:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 71,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24588685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfirefighter/pseuds/starfirefighter
Summary: When village-born Wonwoo earns the opportunity to study in one of Korea's most prestigious universities, he sets out on a lone journey into the hustle and bustle of Seoul.In the midst of adjusting to life in the city, shifting friendships and loyalties, and his bubbly roommate, Junhui, Wonwoo soon learns that his academic struggles are only the tip of the iceberg.
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Wen Jun Hui | Jun
Comments: 30
Kudos: 55





	1. Acetylcholine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned in the tags, this is my first work, so it may or may not be a complete disaster. (✖╭╮✖) However, this first time writer will try their hardest! All your comments are appreciated greatly! (◠ω◠✿)
> 
> God bless your kind souls. Stay safe, everyone!

When the villagers told him that moving to the city was going to hit Wonwoo like a bus, he never thought they meant it _literally_.

Lucky for him, Wonwoo was not about to be runover. But when the bus came to an abrupt stop after exiting the highway, his head flew to the back of the bus seat situated in front of him, awakening him. “Fu-,” he barely screamed out the words before he remembered who he was sitting beside. He immediately met eyes with the older woman and her young and innocent toddler sitting beside him. He gave them a cheeky grin before rubbing his head furiously.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck_ , he ran the words through his head like a mantra. If he couldn’t swear in front of the kid, he might as well let it out somewhere else. Like inside the mental confines of his head that felt like it was about to implode from the sudden contact.

He looked out the window to see that he was stuck in traffic. Or, at least, that’s what he remembered the term was called. The bus had come to a stop somewhere outside of the highway. Car by car, Wonwoo could see that the traffic was not easing out any time soon. He tried to peek ahead only to see more red tail lights lit up. He was going to be stuck here for a while.

The village never had traffic, let alone enough cars to cause traffic in the first place. Streets were always clear and empty, lined with rocks from the lack of pavement. Where Wonwoo came from, they didn’t need the flat surfaces. Animals would often cross the streets, heading from farmland to farmland, market to household. Vehicles were basically a living legend.

Yet here he was, in an apocalypse of the living legend where he could finally say that he couldn’t count the number of vehicles with all of his digits. _This sucks_.

Wonwoo maneuvers in his tiny bus seat, making sure he doesn’t stir up the woman beside him, to reach for his phone. _3:27 PM_. He could only sigh. They were supposed to arrive hours ago according to their initial estimated time of arrival.

He sees some text messages from his mom and smiles. He made sure to place some heart emojis by her name so that it always stuck out when he pulls out his phone. He scrolls up to the top of the thread of text messages.

**Mom** ❤:

Hi, sweetie! I hope you got there safely. It’s raining back here, and I had to stop my work early. Maybe the sun is also sad at the departure of my bean. I miss you. Text me when you can.

Wonwoo smiles as he reads the text. He already misses her even though he saw her only 7 hours ago. He reads the timestamp. 12:58 PM. He was supposed to arrive at 1 PM and text his mom as soon as he arrived.

**Mom** ❤:

Hi, bean. I know you don’t like it when I text you so often, but you were supposed to arrive at 1 PM. I hope you can excuse your worrying mother for a bit hehe. Text me back?

Hi, Wonwoo. Did you make it safely? It’s been almost an hour since your estimated time of arrival. Did something happen? Did I make you go on the wrong bus? Text me.

Jeon Wonwoo. This is not funny. If this is one of your pranks, I am not playing around right now. Text me. Now.

Wonwoo gulped at the sight of his full name and began to furiously type his response. Before he could even hit the send a button, another text arrived.

**Mom** ❤:

I’m worried sick, sweetie. I know you hate phone calls, but I’m going to call you.

Before he can even process the message, his phone vibrates, and the image of his mom fills the screen. He nearly drops the phone in his shock, earning himself yet another death stare from his seatmate. _Good job, dumbass_.

“ _Sweetie? It’s your mom. I know you hate calls, but I had to call to know if you got there safely. You know me, I can’t help but worry_.” His mom’s voice is somewhat frantic with a tinge of sweetness attached to it. Wonwoo always admired the way his mom could keep her composure despite being in a stressful situation. He attributes it to her many years running their farm.

“It’s alright, mom. You know I would always answer your call,” Wonwoo reassures her. “I actually fell asleep on the bus ride over. We’re kind of stuck in traffic right now so-“

“ _Excuse me? Did you say you fell asleep on the bus?_ ” There’s a sudden edge to her voice. He knows it as _that_ voice. The voice that tells him to start apologizing or to run away as far as he possibly can. “ _Wonwoo, it’s not safe to fall asleep on the bus, more so that you’re travelling alone! What if someone tried to take your things while you slept? Or if you missed your stop and ended up in the middle of nowhere?_ ”

Wonwoo can hear her practically hyperventilating from her end of the line. “I know, mom. I’m sorry. Please calm down. I guess I didn’t know how tired I was until I sat down on the bus. I didn’t get to sleep well last night.” And that was the truth. He had woken up at 4 AM that morning to start getting ready to leave the village. Though his departure was still due more than four hours away, his mind was in a frenzy. What if he forgot his wallet? His laptop? His admission papers? He tripled checked everything on his _don’t-forget-these-thing-or-you’re-fucked_ list. His mother had to drag him out of his room in the morning to catch his bus for the city.

“Sweetie, it’s fine. I’m sure you have everything, okay?” His mother said gently. They were already outside the bus station. The bus to Seoul was humming close to them and the conductor was calling out for passengers every few minutes.

“I-I’m just not sure. I don’t want to be too complacent; you know. It must cost a fortune to have things sent to the city and I know we can’t afford-“ Wonwoo was beginning to work himself up a storm while his mother was beginning to laugh her head off. Even at 53 years old, she still had a youthful voice.

“You always do this. Worrying too much about something. It will be fine, my bean.” She lifts Wonwoo’s chin to level their eyes. “If you forget something, you can replace it in the city. They have _everything_ there, right?”

Wonwoo wanted to rebut her statement but he didn’t have the heart to ruin the mood. _They don’t have you there_. Out of everything in the village – the clear skies and endless green planes, the cleansing and flowing air, and the whole familiarity of it all – Wonwoo was going to miss his mother the most. It had been just them for the longest time, the whole mother and son against the world situation. He felt strangely proud of it.

Wonwoo’s eyes met his mother’s and he could see the hazelnut brown glistening with the first few rays of sun. There was something sad about her eyes that she tried to mask with a half-smile. Perhaps she was thinking the same thing. “I-I know. I just wish I could take you with me.” Wonwoo didn’t want to make it seem like he despised leaving the village but who doesn’t fear the unknown? Who knew what awaited him in the city?

“You’ll do amazing, okay? You always do.” The whole time her eyes did not waver or look anywhere else but straight into Wonwoo’s eyes. As if it was some form of silent reassurance. “You’ve been preparing for this since forever and I have all my faith in you. Come here, sweetie.” She brings her hands out, gesturing for a hug.

Wonwoo had once despised hugging, kissing, or simply interacting with his mom in front of his friends because it felt so embarrassing. But he wishes more than anything that he could slap his younger self for being so conceited. He wanted to savor every ounce of his mother before he left. Wonwoo finally reaches out and brings her in a tight hug. She stiffens at first because of the suddenness but quickly melts into her son’s arms, lacing her arms around Wonwoo’s chest. At 6’0, he had quite a few inches on his mom, but he still felt like he was a short seven-year-old in her arms, greeting her when she picked him up after school.

She slowly begins to release her hold and Wonwoo can hear a few muffled sniffs. He wanted to cry too, but they can’t both be crying right now. “I should get on the bus now,” he says while gesturing the bus behind them. The conductor was right outside the bus, signaling him to hurry up.

“Bye-bye, my bean.” She gave the biggest smile she could muster up despite her miniscule tears and still managed to look beautiful. “Call me when you get there, alright? Not one minute later, you know I worry.”

“I will. Bye, mom.” Wonwoo begins to pace backwards while waving at his mom and capturing the scenery in his eyes. His mom in her usual long-sleeved shirt and floral pants, hair tied up in a bun and basket down beside her. Slowly, the small stores were beginning to open their doors for another day of business, and he knew his mom had to head out to the field as soon as he left.

His mom had only begun to mouth out the words, _I love you_ , when Wonwoo decided to rush back in for a quick and final hug.

“I love you, too,” he whispered under her breath. He wasn’t ashamed to say it, but he wanted it to be something he only had with his mom.

“You’re sappy, you know that? Now go catch that bus before you embarrass me in front of the station.” She gently shoves his arms away from her body. Wonwoo knew better than to disagree with the woman.

Wonwoo jogged towards the bus and showed the conductor his ticket to let him in the bus. “See you, mom!”

His mom began to step out of the way and situated herself by the side of the station’s walls to give way for the bus to exit. She was still smiling and waving at Wonwoo like she was one of those plastic cats used to bring good luck.

Wonwoo took a window seat near the back of the bus. He placed his bag under his seat and looked out of the window. His mom was still waving at him and he could only laugh in his spot and wave back at her.

The bus began to slowly inch its way out of the station and onto the main road. He took one last peek at his mother and mouthed out one last _I love you_. Wonwoo could see her bring one hand to her forehead and make the loser sign and suddenly he wasn’t sure who was the older one between them.

Wonwoo breathed in as much of the village air as he could before his lungs would be filled with the smoke and pollution in the city. He didn’t know much about life there, but it didn’t take an environmentalist to know that many cars, buildings, and people crammed into one small area equated to what could be a possibly deadly airborne concoction.

“ _It’s fine, sweetie. I trust you and your judgement. How are things over there?_ ” Her mom cuts back on the bite in her voice and replaces it with sincere curiosity.

“Well, I can’t really say much because I’m still in the bus. I guess it looks different. They have all these cars here that I’ve never seen before.” He looks out again and sees the traffic easing out a bit.

“ _That’s because we don’t use cars in the village._ ” She lets out a small chuckle.

“That’s what I thought! Do you think they’re anything like Uncle Youngho’s car?”

“ _You mean his prehistoric four-wheeled monstrosity? I think he got that out of the Flintstones, sweetie._ ” Uncle Youngho used to drive villagers to the neighboring market every weekend to expand their business reach before his pick-up gave out in the middle of nowhere. Needless to say, the people never wanted to take their chance in that car ever again after they had to carry their wares by foot for over ten kilometers back to the village.

Wonwoo loved his mother’s sense of humor. “Auntie Chanmi hated that thing. She said it made their house look like the town dump.”

“ _Oh, sweetie, their house always looked like the town dump. But don’t tell her I told you that, I still borrow her jars to ferment our kimchi._ ” His mom makes a shushing sound as if Auntie Chanmi could hear her. “ _What’s your plan for when you arrive in the city, sweetie?_ ”

“I was supposed to head to the admissions office to finalize my schedule, but it looks like I won’t make it on time. I might just settle into the dormitory tonight and head out to the office tomorrow morning.” Wonwoo sighs. He hates it when he has to adjust his schedule, but he’s learned that he had to get used to making adjustments to stay afloat.

“ _This won’t affect your scholarship, right?_ ”

“Yes, mom. Don’t worry, they can’t take it away after they’ve already given it.” Wonwoo giggles at the thought though he also starts to wonder if they could actually take away his scholarship for being late for the admissions. He grabbed his bag from under the seat and looked inside to see if the brown envelope was still there. He could see it packed at the back of his bag, the words, “Sungkyunkwan University” written across the side in big block letters.

Wonwoo was the first kid his age to leave the village to study in the city. Most of his fellow classmates all settled for the local college two towns over as if it were some predestined future. However, Wonwoo was known to skirt the spindle of fate. At a young age, he was considered to be somewhat of a child prodigy. His school had seen a lot of potential in him as he memorized the multiplication table at 5 years old and could already identify different plant species and their scientific names at 6 years old.

He was advanced a grade and was put into an entirely different age group, yet he still continued to shine. He was constantly garnering the highest scores in his exams and became his school’s shoe-in for extracurricular competitions. Wonwoo swears his town was basically invisible to the nation until “some no-faced village kid from the middle of nowhere” swept the National Chemistry League Showdown – Junior Division. Suddenly, his school was earning sponsorships from rich investors wanting to see more of Jeon Wonwoo in the newspapers, bringing more and more accolades to their small village.

Wonwoo couldn’t put a finger on what made him that way. When he studied things, they made sense in ways his classmates wouldn’t understand. Numbers and figures were probably his closest friends since most people didn’t want to spend time with him and be subject to undue comparisons. He didn’t mind the loneliness because he was earning money from participating in competitions all over the nation. His mom could finally afford the land she worked in and bought it to run her own farm. That in itself felt like the greatest reward he could ever earn.

Though he would never admit that it did feel lonely. He would often sit outside the cafeteria during lunch since none of his classmates wanted to let him sit with them. If he wasn’t in the library, he would be in the small garden in their school grounds, book in hand just to avoid everyone’s gazes.

When the College Scholastic Ability Test came around, everyone expected Jeon Wonwoo to pass with flying colors. However, no one knew he would be flying over to Sungkyunkwan University in Seoul on a full scholarship. The university was renowned around the country to be a place for only the top 1% of students. Wonwoo had applied to the university on a whim, seeing how he wouldn’t really lose anything if he were to be rejected. His mother ran the streets the day his acceptance letter arrived, screaming at the top of her lungs in excitement because her son would be the first student in decades to leave the village to study in the city.

While Wonwoo felt reservations about leaving the village and his mother, he was psyched to see his mom gushing over the university brochure, pointing at all of the things Wonwoo would be doing if he studied in the city. It was nice to see her finally enjoying something that wasn’t the latest drama on late night television. If he had to sit through another prince and the pauper story on screen, he was going to hurl.

“ _You’re right. I’m sure things will be fine. I’m just so excited for you, sweetie! This is a big thing._ ” His mother was exuding so much enthusiasm, Wonwoo could feel it dripping out of his phone’s speakers.

“I know, I’m excited, too! I just don’t know the first thing about pharmacy so, I can’t help but feel scared.” How he got into that program, Wonwoo has no clue. He had forgotten which programs he’d selected the day he filled out the application because he was too busy studying for his exams at the time. When he read through his acceptance letter, his smile faded a little when he saw the words _Bachelor of Science in Pharmacy_ sprawled after his name.

What did Jeon Wonwoo know about pharmacy? The closest thing his village had to healthcare was herbal remedies and Auntie Miyoung’s less than credible “clinic” where people swore they could hear animals squealing at the dead of night.

Truth be told, Wonwoo didn’t know what he wanted to become when he was older. In between extracurricular competitions, exams, and group projects he had to complete on his own, he had been too absorbed in his present problems to think about his future ones. Now he sees the flaws in his actions because, out of the blue, he was set out to become a doctor after taking pharmacy as his pre-medicine course.

 _You’re good at chemistry, right? Pharmacy is full of it!_ His guidance counselor was practically pushing the program down his throat and Wonwoo didn’t know any better than to swallow it down like a pill. He didn’t want to end up a farmer like his parents. Even they didn’t want that life for him.

 _We’re working hard for your future, kiddo. I know you’re going to make us proud one day so, dream a little bigger._ His father gently told him once when Wonwoo told him he wanted to be a farmer like his dad when he was very young and incredibly naïve. This was one of the only few memories Wonwoo would have of his father.

“ _You’ll do amazing, Wonwoo. I know you doubt your capabilities, but you surprise yourself more often than you think._ ” His mother had a point.

“Okay, mooooom.” Wonwoo didn’t like it when she was being encouraging but his mom was his number one cheerleader from day one.

“ _Don’t use that tone on me, young man. I will make you sit through another one of my television shows. I know you hate those._ ” He knew she was trying to sound threatening, but with how much he missed his mom, it felt so inviting. “ _While you’re at it, you should really get yourself some new clothes._ ”

“What do you mean? My clothes are fine.” He was wearing one of his thousand flannel button-downs with the sleeves rolled up to his forearm and worn-out jeans to match. What was wrong with this?

His mom was laughing from the other end of the line. “ _I don’t know, sweetie. I just don’t think your boy-next-door style will match the city, you know? I see it in television shows all the time, those girls always go for the boys with the leather jackets and ear piercings, which is not to say that I want you to get piercings, but-_ “

“Yes, yes, I get your point. I will go shopping, I promise.” Wonwoo cut her off, not wanting to hear what was at the end of her train of thought. “I just don’t know what to get, though.”

“ _You kids have the internet at the palm of your hands, and you have the audacity to say that you don’t know anything. Back in my day, we had to rely on pure wit to survive._ ”

“Okay, grandma.” Wonwoo had heard enough of her boomer stories to last him a lifetime.

“ _Just send me a picture before you buy anything, okay? I just want to make sure everyone can see how handsome my son is._ ” His mother always gushed about him being more confident about his appearance, but Wonwoo didn’t know how to. “ _And don’t you dare buy another plaid shirt. You have too many of those, sweetie._ ”

“Hey, those things never go out of style,” Wonwoo protested. He was about to ask about what the male protagonists wore in her television dramas when the bus suddenly came to a slow stop. He looked outside of the Wonwoo to see that the bus was parked in the bus station. He didn’t realize that the bus had navigated through the traffic and that they had entered the city. “Oh, mom, we just arrived.”

“ _That’s good, sweetie. I was starting to think you’d have to spend the night there,_ ” his mother commented. “ _By the way, Ginger says ‘hello.’_ ” Ginger was his orange and white-striped tabby. When Wonwoo had found her on their doorstep one day, his mother said that she looked like fresh ginger with the amount of dirt she had on her fur. After washing her up, he saw how her fur was orange like the sunset that outlined the mountain ranges, but the name stuck.

“Oh, greet her for me, will you? And make sure she doesn’t chase the chickens out again.” The bus was beginning to thin down to the few passengers left at the back. The old woman who sat beside him made sure to give Wonwoo some side eye before leaving to exit. That bitch. “I should probably get off the bus now, mom.”

“ _I understand. Text me when you get settled, okay?_ ” His mother’s voice suddenly sounded solemn.

“I will, mom. I-I know you know that I hate calls, b-but don’t be afraid to call me at any time,” Wonwoo reassured her while slinging his backpack onto his shoulders.

He could imagine her smiling through the phone. Wonwoo avoided calls like the plague so, it meant a lot for his mom that he said those things. “ _I’d love that. Let’s talk again soon. Take care in the city, bean. I love you._ ”

“I love you, too, mom. Take care.” After a brief moment of silence, he dropped the call because he knew his mother never did. He double-checked his seat to make sure he didn’t leave anything behind and began to walk to the exit.

In an instant, a blast of warm air hit him, a sharp contrast from the cool air conditioner inside the bus. He could hear a loud siren blaring somewhere in the distance and the horns of cars singing in unison due to the traffic that had built up. He spotted the older woman again with her kid, this time fully awake and screaming at the top of his lungs. The conductor was outside, smoking a cigarette and releasing the horrific gas into the air. People were crowding by the baggage carrier at the side of the bus and Wonwoo was suddenly pushed out of his trance.

“Move it, kid,” some stranger had grumpily muttered. Wonwoo decided to step back and wait for the crowd to diminish before grabbing his carrier. He took another look at his surroundings and sighed.

 _So, this is the city_.

The thing about moving to the city, Wonwoo learns, is that everything is huge.

The streets seem to span miles and crossing them alone feels as if you need to run to the other end to avoid being flattened by the ocean of vehicles. The buildings, or better yet, the colossal skyscrapers tower deep into the skies that it makes his neck hurt from having to look up at them. The bits of sky that he can see is all gray and dull, the absence of color making him feel even smaller and more out of place. The bridges in the city are not like the ones in the village that only connect towns to one another due to a small ravine in-between them. These ones in the city seem to harbor over gigantic bodies of water that can probably swallow his entire village with a simple push of its waves.

Something about the city seems to demand subordination. As if you were meant to kneel before it in act of humble submission. Humans were meant to tread on its threshold, not to bask its expanse. The people here seem to think the same thing because no one seems to stop and admire their surroundings, all of them looking straight into their cellphone screens or directly ahead of them, trying to hail a taxi or catch their carpool. There seems to be a silent agreement that one person cannot stand and look at their environment for more than three seconds because, if you do, you will be pushed aside.

Which is what happens to Wonwoo about 5 times as he tries to navigate his way to his dormitory, phone in hand with a map from the bus station directly to his new abode.

Lucky for him, he didn’t have to brave the public transportation system just yet. He could get lost and end up in a different stop, or universe for that matter because _Jesus there are so many stops in the subway system_ , some other day. From the bus station, his dormitory is less than 10 blocks away, a few left turns here and there.

Unlike the remainder of what he’s seen of the city, his dormitory might just be dwarf of the skyscraper family.

Cramped between 2 small buildings, the word “small” being used judiciously because those buildings are probably five-hundred chickens tall, is his small and quaint dormitory. The boring cream and gray paint is slowly peeling off the walls and the marquee blinks suspiciously. The façade reminds him of the buildings he saw in some New York sitcom featuring 6 friends. The windows all have curtains drawn about them and the lack of greens and blues and honestly just about any color is appalling. The alley beside the building is filled with blue-collar workers smoking away and releasing toxic fumes into each other’s faces. They all give Wonwoo a knowing look, as if they know that he doesn’t belong in the glitz and glamor of the city. Or they might all be conspiring to mug him. Both thoughts scare him enough to take 2 large steps at a time.

He lugs his carrier a few steps and into the front door. To his surprise, the interior is nothing like its chilling façade. Small potted plants line the shelves planted on the walls, each having its own distinctly beautiful flower blooming. It may or may not be fake, but Wonwoo can’t bring himself to care. A miniature chandelier hangs in the center of the small lobby and reflects tiny specks of light around the room, something akin to a classy disco ball. More than that, the receptionist doesn’t look bored out of her mind and manages to give him a kind smile and beckons for him to come over.

After a few minutes of sorting through his accommodation papers with the receptionist, he is directed to the small elevator through a hallway at the corner of the lobby. As he was informed, Wonwoo’s roommates had already arrived earlier and had all the keys to their room. He didn’t want to be the last one to arrive, but the provincial bus only ever passed his village once a week.

When he reaches his floor, a long hallway of identical adjacent doors greets him. He looks at the number of each door, trying to locate his room. _339, 339, 339_ , he reminds himself. Now is not the day to suddenly knock on the wrong door and be remembered as the lost and bewildered village boy who was barking up the wrong tree. He’s almost at the end of the seemingly endless corridor when he finally sees the lucky “339” plated in simple metal characters on the door.

Wonwoo didn’t realize how exhausted he felt until he began to knock on the door. Just as he’s about to gently pound on the entrance, he hears the faint whispers of people he assumes to be his roommates from the other side.

“I don’t know, I just don’t want another creepy roommate,” a voice resonates through the wood. The voice is tight, taut, and surprisingly curt, made obvious when he says, “I mean, just look at that? That’s _not_ normal.” Wonwoo is imagining that the voice must be gesturing to something inside. He has yet to find out as his fist slowly curls outward and he brings ears closer to the wooden surface.

A second voice scoffs at his comment, “It’s not weird to be clean and have things standardized, Soonyoung. You see someone have organized belongings and he’s already your worst nightmare.” The second voice is more modulated and surprisingly brighter. “Give him a chance before you get worked up.”

“I am _not_ getting worked up,” the first voice chimes up. The squeak of sneakers can be heard and Wonwoo cringes away from the door. The owner of the voice is probably pacing around the room.

“Just look at what you’re doing; that is not what ‘not getting worked up’ looks like.” The second voice seems just as blunt as the first yet seems more earnest in his words. Like he’s genuinely worried.

“I just don’t want to live with weirdos, there’s nothing wrong with that.” There’s a short silence before he continues, “right?” The silence lasts a little longer than necessary, the voices probably speaking with their faces or making absurdly excessive hand gestures or casting magical spells to communicate. Wonwoo wouldn’t know, he’s still creepily eavesdropping instead of entering his dorm room like a normal person.

After what seems like forever, the second voice sighs heavily. He’d probably given up in trying to ease the owner of the first voice because the sneakers squeak more frequently now, surprisingly in rhythm. _One-two-squeak, one-two-squeak, one-two-squeak_. It’s like a trance dance or something.

“Can you please stop that? At this point, you’re going to set this whole building on fire,” the second voice calls out exasperatedly. “Take five chill pills and sit down please.”

There is a distinct scratch of a chair’s metal legs along the tiles followed by a short and weighty groan. It seems the second voice won their extraordinary battle of words.

Wonwoo decides to wait a little bit outside before entering. He doesn’t want his roommates to think he was eavesdropping, though he totally was. He pulls out his phone and texts his mom that he arrived safely before checking off tasks in his digital to-do list. After what feels like an appropriate amount of time, he musters up the courage to knock on the door before security drags him out of the building for loitering in the halls.

The door opens and he is met with a midday summer sun blonde boy holding the door all the way in. The boy in question initially hosted a face of curiosity before twisting the sides of his lips into a gentle grin. Wonwoo instantly notices the way his eyes curve upwards, sort of like the hands of a clock. He tries not to stare into the boy’s eyes, but it’s kind of irresistible.

“I know, right,” the boy bursts out, probably catching Wonwoo’s line of sight. “They’re probably the best thing about me.” He gestures to his eyes and the thin lines go impossibly smaller. The way his biceps tightens when he curls his arms up reveals that he is most probably an athlete or at least athletic by nature. Because who wears form-fitting tank tops for events other than sports or exercise? This guy apparently.

“O-oh, I d-didn’t mean to stare.” Wonwoo awkwardly reaches for the back of his neck, quick to notice the heat rising to his face. “I’m Jeon Wonwoo. I think we’re roommates?” He hesitatingly brings his right hand out for a handshake. _Is this still something people my age do?_

His doubt quickly disappears when the boy takes his hand and brings him in for a short, one-side of his body kind of hug, their hands still clamped in between them as they approach one another. It doesn’t last more than a second, but it feels all too strange for Wonwoo. Hugs like these are usually for people who’ve known each other for years, maybe months at best, not twenty awkward seconds. “I’m Soonyoung. Kwon Soonyoung. It’s nice to finally see and meet you Jeon Wonwoo,” he lets out a small exhale-laugh. “You’re quite the enigma, you know that?”

“What do you mean?” Wonwoo finally gets to enter the dorm, dragging his larger than life carrier inside and shutting the door behind him.

His dorm room is the polar opposite of everything he’s seen in the city so far. The walls are covered in a dull white color, the kind of white that was probably clean and pristine back in the day. The day being the 1900s. He’s immediately greeted with a miniature kitchen set – a small counter with a sink, a microwave, and an induction stove top. The smell of spices fills his nostrils, causing them to flare slightly. The plastic bathroom door is right across the kitchen set. To the farthest end of the room is a bunkbed lying along the side of the wall with the window peeking out to the street. Below the bottom bunk is a pull-out bed that is, well… pulled out. On the small corner of the room next to the bathroom, a petite and definitely-not-meant-for-three-people table is cramped into the space with three chairs against the available sides.

The first animate object Wonwoo detects, aside from the living incarnation of sunshine standing in front of him, is a shorter boy turned away from the door. The only thing he can see from where he’s standing is the boy’s blackish brown hair reflecting the fluorescent light and his black oversized shirt.

“I couldn’t find you anywhere on social media! Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, Line?” Soonyoung counts the social media sites with one of his hands, stopping the count when he realizes he has no more fingers left to continue. “You’re living off the grid.”

“Oh,” Wonwoo faintly chuckles before adding, “I guess I never needed it. Social media, I mean.” He lies through his teeth, hoping they don’t push the topic. Of course he had a social media account, but it was a part of ancient history now. Anyone who wasn’t living under a rock had joined the Facebook craze around the turn of the decade and Wonwoo was no exception. He loved adding his classmates from the village and following different Bible verse pages and weekly science publications. Wonwoo was as hooked as everyone else, way too deep into the wave of the internet to stop using the invention all until-

“Hey, that’s cool, bro. Don’t mention it. I guess I just wanted to see what my future roommate looked like, that’s all!” Soonyoung flashes him another one of his signature eye smiles steps to the side to let Wonwoo through.

Wonwoo rolls his carrier to one of the four open spaces on the wall (yes, he counted the number of unbelievably tiny but empty spots along the walls in his initial examination of the room) and leaves it there in the meantime. He would deal with unpacking later, his calves practically begging to rest after all the unnecessary shaking Wonwoo was doing in the walk over. The city scared him and his body was making sure anyone with keen eyes could see it by forcing his leg muscles to contract and relax at unprecedented rates.

Soonyoung takes a seat on the chair by the sad excuse of a table, several sets of utensils and a printer filling up most of the area. Everything about this dorm room screams pitiful. “What program are you in, Wonwoo?” he asks while trying to sneak a peek at whatever the second boy has on his phone screen.

“I’m going to take up Pharmacy,” Wonwoo pipes up, still awkwardly standing by his carrier. He should probably take a seat next to them, but he can’t find the fortitude to sit beside the shorter boy who has yet to introduce himself or even spare a small glance at Wonwoo. “Um, how about you?”

“I’m taking up Sport Science at the College of Sport Sciences. You’re obviously in the School of Pharmacy so our buildings are right next to one another,” he points his finger in a back-and-forth swinging motion. Soonyoung then steals the second boy’s mobile phone out of his hands and brings it out of the latter’s reach. “Jihoon here is taking up Behavioral Sciences at the College of Social Sciences. According to him, it’s _‘like Psychology but not Psychology, you know?’_ ” He adds finger quotations to top off his mocking voice.

Jihoon is quick to glare at him, making no attempts to reach for his phone because his arms are definitely not long enough to take it back. “Yeah, keep making fun of my choice but you’re the one who wanted me to go to this university with you.”

Wonwoo gives them a docile smile and finally takes the last seat by the table. He can sense there’s some undiffused tension between them from the bitterness of Jihoon’s last statement.

It turns out that Soonyoung and Jihoon are childhood friends. Their families have been friends since _the invention of the steam engine_ , to use Soonyoung’s own words. From early childhood play dates to awkward pubescent voice cracks to late teenage existential crises, these boys were at each other’s sides, seemingly joined at the hip. But something about them makes their friendship seem like they’re an unlikely duo made to mix and match.

Maybe it’s the way Soonyoung can’t seem to sit still, emanating an endless supply of energy and radiant aura to match his blonde hair. Maybe it’s the way Jihoon refuses to speak unless spoken to, how he can’t seem to look directly into Wonwoo’s eyes as they speak. Like he’s trying to store the universe’s most gripping secrets in the speckles of his iris and doesn’t want it to spill out. Soonyoung is the kind of person who invites you to the party and electrifies everyone in a small radius around him, while Jihoon is the type of person you have to drag out of his bed to participate in social events only to have him slouching on the empty wall and blending into the wallpaper. Or maybe Wonwoo’s just looking too far into things.

Soonyoung informs him that he had also just arrived, though earlier in the day. The blonde boy lives about twenty minutes away from campus by bus and has lived in the city his entire life. While he insisted on staying at home for his university studies, his and Jihoon’s family basically kicked them out of their residence to learn how to live on their own. A sort of forced independence experience to teach them “valuable life lessons.”

By some unknown forces, and probably a sum total of a billion liters of blood, sweat, and tears, they had both made it into Sungkyunkwan University. Though not on a full ride. From there, the duo pooled together their money and found this dormitory that was only a few blocks away from the university.

“This short one over here? Nah, he’s got his own place,” Soonyoung replies when Wonwoo asked if Jihoon was filling in the last bed in the bunk. “He’d much rather run around the campus naked than share a room with me,” Soonyoung says with a cheeky grin, as if already imagining his best friend doing such horrendous acts. Jihoon can only stare at the blonde boy with eyes of pure hatred. “And, by the way, only I can call him ‘short.’ He’d chop your dick off before you can even think of it.” Wonwoo winces at the thought.

Before Soonyoung can open his mouth again, Jihoon punches him in the gut and snatches his phone back in one swift motion. The latter moved as if he had done this a million times. Instead of groaning in pain, Soonyoung simply lunges forward to place his head on Jihoon’s shoulder, laughing an inappropriately boisterous laugh.

It was just his first day in his dorm room and Wonwoo could already tell one of his roommates was going to be a handful. He noticed the pull-out bed already made with an adorable ramen-themed bedsheet encasing the mattress. “Is our other roommate already here?” Wonwoo asks.

Soonyoung looks up from Jihoon’s shoulder to give Wonwoo a small smile saying, “Oh, yeah! I almost forgot about him. I met him earlier today and he seems alright. He’s very… organized.” He points to the different labeled containers by their small kitchen.

Things from spices in small mason jars and food in reusable plastic containers were all labeled with clumsy characters and a small emoji to match. Wonwoo approached a stack of papers by the spices, flipping through the small index cards to reveal recipes for meals such as fried rice, seasoned squid, and vegetable broth. _Wow, this guy really knows his food_. Wonwoo may have come from the countryside, but he could not for the life of him cook anything beyond packed ramen. His mother was too good a cook and never let him touch anything in the kitchen without, in her own words, her _strict and unwavering eyes_ on his every move.

Soonyoung clears his throat and Wonwoo almost forgot he was there. “He was already all set up here when I arrived a few hours ago. He mentioned something about scholarship terms and having to arrive early to take care of the final paperwork.”

Right, his admission papers. Wonwoo was meant to finalize the terms of his scholarship at an earlier date, along with the other scholars, but he called ahead and asked if he could come in on a later date in lieu of the provincial bus schedule. “Do you know where the admissions office is located?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s right smack in the middle of campus, past the library and right next to the College of Arts and Design.” Soonyoung gesticulates directions with his hands.

Yes, those buildings. Definitely. Wonwoo definitely knew were those were. “Oh, um… right.” He tries to hide the obvious confusion on his face with a knowing smile, but the boy with lines for eyes sees right through him.

“You know, I could personally show you where the admissions office is tomorrow. I was planning on dragging Junhui and Jihoon here for a self-guided tour of the campus.” When Wonwoo’s face only displays more confusion, Soonyoung adds, “Wen Junhui. He’s the one sleeping on top of the ramen.”

“I see.” Wonwoo feels some apprehension accepting this offer from a stranger, but he’s going to have to suck it up sooner or later because he’d have to get to know his roommates more at some point. He might as well start now. “I’ll take you up on that offer.”

“Groovy!” Soonyoung stands up and stretches obnoxiously, “Anywho, I was planning on going to Jihoon’s dorm room and abusing his Playstation 4. You want to come with?”

Jihoon finally speaks up after what feels like a millennium, “You were?”

As inviting as the opportunity of bonding with his future roommate was, Wonwoo had no intention of showing them how inept he was at anything console-related just yet. “I should probably unpack and get settled. I just came from a pretty long bus ride.”

“It’s alright, dude. I’ll catch you later?” He’s already halfway to the exit, dragging an unwilling Jihoon from his seat.

“Yeah, see you later,” Wonwoo calls out as he lays down his carrier to start unpacking. The door was about to close shut when he hears Soonyoung again from the hallway.

“Hey, dude. I’m going with Jihoon to his dorm room for some Playstation time. Want to come with?” Is he planning on inviting the whole dormitory to his video game event?

A voice responds, sounding gravelly and listless, “No, thanks, man. I might crash for now.”

“That’s fine. Our new roommate is already in there if you want to meet him,” Soonyoung calls out, voice already faint. “See you guys later!” Wonwoo suddenly brings his guard up. It feels like someone is talking behind his back even though it was an innocent exchange.

The door swings open again, and another boy enters. The first thing Wonwoo notices about him is the unkempt hair poking out of the boy’s beanie. His bangs were long enough to almost cover his eyes and the back of his neck completely. Unlike Soonyoung, the boy in question did not have a bright twist permanently implanted on his lips. His lips looked more like Sonyoung’s eyes when he smiled, completely flat lines. Dark halos surrounded his tired eyes and it looked like he was about to drop dead on the spot.

Despite his lazy features, he had a sharp jawline and prominent collarbones poking out of his sweater. His broad shoulders contrasted his evidently thin waist. A true Dorito personified. Wonwoo doesn’t know whether to feel intimidated or strangely captivated.

The boy also appears to be taking Wonwoo in, doing a quick once-over before clearing his throat, “Hey, man. You must be Wonwoo.” He makes a beeline for the fridge and pulls out a bottle of water. After almost downing the entire bottle in one go, he adds, “I’m Wen Junhui, though you can just call me Junhui. Or Jun, whatever floats your boat.”

“Yeah, S-Soonyoung mentioned you. I-I’m Jeon W-Wonwoo. But you already know that.” God, why was he stuttering? Wonwoo can feel a familiar heat rising to his cheeks and tainting his face a few shades redder. Something about Junhui commanded attention, even though the boy doesn’t look anyhow conceited. “I just got here a half hour ago.”

The late afternoon sun was beginning to sneak its way through the small window and shining almost directly at Junhui’s face. His softly tanned skin seemed to glow under the light. Everything about it felt picturesque. Junhui brings a hand-up to cover his eyes before asking, “Where are you from, Jeon Wonwoo?”

“I’m from Bodeok.” He’s tempted to add _the home of Korea’s best spring peas_ into the mix because he has the catch phrase engraved in the deepest parts of his subconscious, but he holds his tongue. Junhui probably isn’t the kind of person who would care about that.

“I’ve never heard of that place, actually.” Junhui paces towards the ramen bed and lies down with a muffled crash, the mattress bearing the weight of this tall body.

 _That’s because there’s nothing to hear about_. “It’s just a small farming village in the countryside, n-nothing too glamorous about it,” Wonwoo informs, slowly unpacking one of many plaid button-down shirts into the closet.

Junhui hums and closes his eyes, as if to begin falling asleep. “What program are you in?”

“Oh, I-I’m taking up Pharmacy.” The decision is practically set in stone, but it doesn’t settle well in the bottom of his stomach. Like acid beginning to climb his esophagus.

With that, Junhui rapidly sits up and grabs Wonwoo by the shoulders. His face is lit up with excitement, cheeks plump, and eyebags and signs of exhaustion nowhere to be seen. “Me too!” He begins to shake Wonwoo where he is crouching over and holding some pair of worn out denim jeans. “I haven’t met anyone here who was taking up the same program as me.”

Wonwoo realizes the sudden proximity of Junhui’s face. His sharps eyes are dyed a deep auburn color and the scent of fresh strawberries fills his nose, blurring out his senses. From up close, Junhui’s features are more defined, his jaw bringing a whole new definition to the adjective “chiseled.” Their eyes meet and Wonwoo instantly looks down, finding the noodles and boiled pork printed on Junhui’s bedsheet to be immensely interesting.

It’s not that Junhui is deceptively good looking behind his beanie and morose haircut. It’s not because Junhui’s jawline could probably slice people’s heads off with one swift motion. It’s not even the fact that Junhui is intently searching Wonwoo’s face to meet his eyes. It’s just that Wonwoo has never, _ever_ been this close to anyone. He has a discreet but firm rule to keep a one-meter distance away from anyone. More so with strangers. His personal bubble was his sanctuary and Junhui’s strawberry aroma was tainting the surfaces a deep, velvety red.

Junhui probably senses Wonwoo’s discomfort and whips his hands down to his lap, as if he were burned. “Sorry, I just got too excited. I haven’t met anyone who was taking the same program as me. They said the campus population was very small because they only have one block of students per program.” His flat line of a smile grows into an open-mouthed smile, revealing his ten-out-of-ten-dentists-approve-of-this-toothpaste teeth. “What are the odds, right?”

Wonwoo could barely glance up to meet Junhui’s eyes because _wow, that is one killer smile_. He finally shakes the reverie away and tries to remind himself to stop being staring into other people’s facial features like they had just grown out a second head. “I guess those odds must be astronomically small,” he lets out a terse laugh to diffuse the sudden flush in his face.

“Well, it probably must mean something. I guess the heavens were finally telling me to be more sociable.” Junhui returns to his spot on the bed, lying face down on the mattress. He whips out a small key from his jeans pocket and waves his hand in the air. “Before I forget, here’s your key to the room. Don’t lose it because we don’t have spares.”

“Thank you.” The key in question has Wonwoo’s name written on a small piece of sticker paper, clumsy characters and heart emoticon scribbled in blank ink.

Junhui begins to stir in his bed and groans when he finds the right spot. “Tell me something about yourself, Jeon Wonwoo,” the words rolling out of his mouth almost incomprehensibly.

The clothes from his carrier are slowly making its way into the small cabinet underneath an air conditioning unit. Wonwoo almost misses the question while folding mismatched pairs of socks into his small compartment. “Oh, um… I come from a small village further south from here, but you already know that.” He tries to rattle his brain in the hopes of finding his punchline, his icebreaker. “I have a cat named ‘Ginger’ and I used to work on a farm. My mom would make the best kimchi that people were practically lined up outside our house-“

An obnoxiously loud snore breaks through the ramble. In the span of thirty seconds, Wonwoo had lulled Junhui into complete slumber. _I guess I need a new icebreaker_.

After unpacking, Wonwoo washes up, puts on a pair of sweats and an oversized shirt, and retires for the evening, too physically spent to wait for an appropriate time to fall sleep. He can fix his body clock tomorrow. His body was just aching for the soft pressure from the mattress to line his aching muscles. And while the mattress might just be a rock in sheep’s clothing, Wonwoo has no energy to care.

He closes his eyes and tries to will himself to sleep, Junhui’s Bigfoot snores ringing through his ears.

_11:49 PM_. Wonwoo has officially been willing himself to sleep for almost five hours.

While he silently prayed that Junhui would pipe down the longer he slept, the snores peculiarly found a way to penetrate Wonwoo’s eardrums to ring in rhythm. Each loud exhale was as subtle as a drunkard trying to pass through a field of eggshells without breaking anything. There was _nothing_ subtle about it.

Soonyoung had yet to return, probably still abusing Jihoon’s Playstation at this ungodly hour. Wonwoo should have let himself get his ass whooped in Call of Duty or something. Anything to get out of this Roman torture device of a dorm room.

His phone screen lights up with a message from his mom. It’s a picture of his mom with Ginger sleeping on her lap. A follow-up text arrives.

**Mom** ❤:

She serves no master because she is the master and I am her humble servant. Tell me how to get her off me.

**Jeon Wonwoo:**

Pet her ears until she starts purring. When she begins to preen to the touch, let her down gently.

Works about ninety-five percent of the time.

His mom never knew how to navigate her way around Ginger, Wonwoo always having to rush in to let her off the couch or away from their dinner, convincing his mom each and every time that _yes, cats are not super villains out to ruin your daisies_.

Wonwoo looks through the small portion of window that makes it to the top bunk (he had claimed this bed since Soonyoung most probably took the lower bunk, a horde of plushies and stuffed toys lined against the wall. Wonwoo wasn’t going to question the army of fluffables). He could see the bright lights of the city beaming from every which building. The street below was caught in a standstill, a chorus of sirens blaring through the stratosphere. He could hear a string of curses being thrown out, earning yet another symphony of horns.

A loud clack reverberates from wall to wall. When he turns to investigate, he finds Junhui’s phone lying face-down on the floor, the boy not any more awake than he was three minutes ago.

Wonwoo’s phone receives another text from his mom.

**Mom** ❤:

Finally got that devil off me. You’re lucky I love you, sweetie, or else she would have met her maker.

Sleep tight, Wonwoo. I love and miss you.

Between the ensemble of sirens outside his window and his roommate’s snores calling onto evil creatures from another dimension, Wonwoo can only stare at his blank ceiling in disdain. He already misses the serenity and quiet of the village, the security of living with his mom to take care of him, and the familiarity of the setting that he had been acquainted with for his entire life.

**Jeon Wonwoo:**

I love and miss you, too. Good night, mom.

He sets his phone on his copy of _Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe_ and closes his eyes again. He recites his evening prayer and wishes his words into fruition. It was going to be a long night ( _and school year_ ) ahead of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually haven't finished writing this fic... but I wanted to push it in time for Junhui Day!
> 
> I'm currently still writing the remaining chapters slowly but surely. As tagged, this is my first work on the site so, feel free to comment or send suggestions or recommendations. They are HIGHLY appreciated.
> 
> Lots of love to you all and Happy Junhui Day!


	2. Glycine

Exploring a new environment is sort of like sampling a flavor of ice cream for the very first time. Everything about it is a mystery.

The container glows a different shade of brown or white, perhaps made of reusable plastic or soon-to-be bruised aluminum. The label is printed with words of a flavor you never knew existed. Like “Milky Moon Madness” or “Butter and Bacon Buffet.” The contents could be a smooth layer of frozen dairy or a wild, heterogenous mixture of nuts and rice crispy treats. 

The tongue takes its time adjusting to the taste, each flavor receptor interpreting each sensation and creating a reasonable response for the brain to understand. Is it too sweet? Is it surprisingly sour? Does it have a bitter aftertaste? _It better not be Pistachio_. With each scoop, the brain slowly wraps itself around the new feeling, slowly numbing itself until what was new becomes something oddly familiar.

Navigating through Sungkyunkwan University is sort of like that. But Wonwoo’s brain still can’t wrap itself around itself around all the new flavors, each building on campus a unique feeling on his palette that he has yet to digest.

Back in Bodeok, there had only been one school system from elementary to high school, crammed into a tiny three-story building. There weren’t too many people living in the countryside so, it magically all panned out. Each grade level had about two classes, some scheduled in the morning and the others in the afternoon. The cafeteria was never once filled to the brim and the hallways were never considered to be “flooded” during Wonwoo’s entire stay. It was a veritable ghost town.

But in Sungkyunkwan University, Wonwoo’s entire school could fit in the admissions office alone.

Each college he passed through was strikingly unique, yet somehow coordinated with the rest. Large glass windows spanned the façade, some bits of whites and grays seen on the empty spaces of the exterior. They had a contemporary build to it, filled with metallic components and patches of greenery to contrast the monochromatic color palette. 

The layout of the campus was an organized mess. Just to reach his college, he would have to take numerous left and right turns, through tunnels and over bridges, like a game of Snakes and Ladders.

“I heard our college has a statue of the Bowl of Hygeia in front of it,” Junhui whispered into his ear as they passed by the College of Economics that housed a digital screen showing the movement of stocks in real time. _GBW down and SVT up, let’s go investments_.

It was the first time Wonwoo heard Junhui speak using a suitable volume after waking up at 7 in the morning ( _7 in the morning!_ ) to Junhui cooing and laughing at cat videos on his phone. He was inches away from snapping at Junhui for making a ruckus at such an ungodly hour when the latter had offered the breakfast he made. It turns out that the mountain of spices that lined the kitchen counter all belonged to him.

“I know what you’re going to say,” Junhui sighs while stirring the pot of congee, “my snoring was ‘loud enough to awaken the sleeping giants of old.’ I’ve had it ever since I was teenager. The other kids in the orphanage use to beat my ass for it.”

“Oh, I-I didn’t know you were-“ he says before an uncontrollable yawn escapes his mouth, “from an orphanage.”

Junhui whips his head up to where Wonwoo is climbing down from the top bunk. Soonyoung apparently made it home somewhere after midnight, still sound asleep with his army of stuffed toys scattered all over the bottom bunk. “Really? I thought I mentioned it to you yesterday…” He goes into deep thought, staring at a particularly ugly patch of paint on the wall. “Either that or I was talking to Minghao on the fifth floor. Who knows? You want some green onions on your congee?” He manages to spit the words out in rapid fire succession.

Still stunned to comprehend what had just transpired, Wonwoo meekly nods his head. He hadn’t met anyone who came from an orphanage before so, he was curious to figure out the dynamics of it all. He makes a mental note to ask Junhui about this next time. Or when his breath doesn’t smell like three-day old garbage.

The group walks along the paved sidewalks on campus that have trees to shade off the late summer sun. Soonyoung is going off about some football game on the Playstation to Jihoon, too invested in his own story to realize that the latter has both ears plugged off with Airpods. Junhui walks a few paces behind the pair, mindlessly typing something on his cellphone that he never puts down. As for Wonwoo, he decides to trail behind the group, hoping to memorize the route from his dorm to the School of Pharmacy.

Working through his files at the admissions office proved to be quite simple. After speaking to the attendant-in-charge, he came out with his finalized schedule and scholarship guidelines. 

True to Junhui’s words, his program only had one block of students, the whole college only having two programs – Pharmacy and Pharmaceutical Sciences (“ _What’s the difference?_ ” “ _Not sure, Jeon, but one sounds less science-y than the other_.”) 

Considering how he was in the same program as Junhui, they shared the same schedule for all their classes. All except their mandatory Physical Education class. Wonwoo was stuck taking up social dancing while Junhui lucked out with chess.

Wonwoo was only staring at his phone for a few seconds when he suddenly bumps into a wall. Or what at least feels like a wall, though Junhui was the same height as him. “Fu-“ he bites his tongue, not wanting to earn himself unnecessary attention. Bumping into things was becoming a constant thing for him.

“Oh, sorry, dude.” Junhui thumbs Wonwoo’s forehead to check for any marks. After finding nothing more than a temporary red spot, he points to the building on their right, “That’s one huge ass library.”

The library seemed more like a space center than a place for cataloguing books. Similar to the other buildings, windows lined about every inch of the building, revealing several students studying in mini-office set-ups. The entire structure was lifted off the ground by giant pillars, the only entrance being a small room in the center. Wonwoo can only stand and admire the ten-floor goliath, mouth agape. His high school didn’t even have a library.

“They say that this library is open 24/7. It’s where everyone goes to have their all-nighters,” Soonyoung pipes up. “We’re probably going to be in one of those rooms soon enough. Our room is too small to study in, don’t you think?”

“You tell me. I feel like my own thoughts can’t fit in that room,” Junhui utters while snapping a picture of the library.

Wonwoo’s gaze is transfixed on the library when the entrance bursts open. Two boys are exiting, one tall and lean while the other is short and sporting bubblegum pink hair. And while the hair shines bright enough to be seen from outer space, that’s not what catches his attention. 

In the span of non-existent space between the two boys, their hands are intertwined, no sign of anything platonic from the way the taller boy rubs his thumb on the back of the other’s hand.

Soonyoung follows Wonwoo’s line of sight and catches the couple, clearing his throat, “We should probably get a move on.” He’s already ten paces ahead, Jihoon in tow and still scrolling through his playlist.

“They look cute together,” Junhui comments, already picking up his pace to catch up with Soonyoung. “You coming, Jeon?”

He does a quick once-over before turning his heels, nodding in response to Junhui. Wonwoo didn’t know what it all meant. Were those sorts of things considered _normal_ here? Everything on campus was still so fresh for him and the flavors weren’t making any sense in his mind. 

Is there such a thing as a homosexual ice cream flavor? It would probably taste like bubblegum and rebellion.

Junhui suddenly hooks an arm around Wonwoo. “If you keep staring at them, they’ll think you’re into them and, from the looks of it, I don’t think they’re looking to form a throuple.” The boy is gently nudging him to turn away.

“Oh, r-right,” he finally stops being a creep and follows Soonyoung’s tracks with Junhui’s toned arm still wrapped around his neck. He tries not to focus too much on the physical contact, more so that he called Junhui’s arm _toned_.

“So, tell me something, Jeon,” Junhui apparently had a knack for using last names, “what brings you to the city?”

“E-excuse me?”

“You know, what are you here for?” Junhui asks nonchalantly, an arm still wrapped around Wonwoo’s neck. The pressure is gentle but all too new for him. Though it’s not entirely bad.

A soft morning breeze passes through and gives him goosebumps. While autumn was slowly starting to inch its way into their calendars, the summer haze was still very much alive and kicking. “You mean my program?”

Junhui scoffs at his reply, “Of course I remember your program, silly,” he chuckles while ruffling Wonwoo’s bedhead hair. Junhui’s hair was tied up to a short ponytail, his bangs shrouding his lazy eyes. Even with a full night of rest, he still managed to look tired. “We’re going to be walking this same path every day for classes so, you better get used to this face.” He actually points at his face while giving Wonwoo a soft smile. _Dork_.

He never knew the right kind of responses to these situations, so he blurts out the first thought that runs through his head, “I-I’m sick of it already.”

Junhui makes a face of fake disbelief before morphing it back to the smile. “You break my heart, Jeon. And you’re avoiding the question. What I meant was what drives you? What do you want to achieve here?”

“Oh,” Wonwoo was taken aback. The answer should have been simple, but he had some reservations with his response, “I guess I want to become a doctor in the near future.”

“You guess?” Junhui is not looking at him but Wonwoo can feel him digging caves into his mind. “You don’t sound so sure about that.”

 _Because I’m really not_. “I haven’t thought too far into it. I-I just want to take it one step at a time.” He wanted to create some distance between the two of them because this was definitely a breach in his personal bubble protocol. Or was it because his roommate was already grilling him on his life choices on day 2? Wonwoo refuses to look into it any further.

“Don’t worry about it, man. I’m not your parents, I’m not going to interrogate you,” Junhui snickers for a bit before going into thought. “I bet your parents choose this program for you.”

“N-no, it was my choice.” He didn’t know why it was his choice, however. It just made sense at the time; Wonwoo had a knack for chemistry and this pharmacy program had a ton of chemistry-bound subjects. It was simple logic. “Well, sort of my guidance counselor’s choice,” he adds to diffuse the tension.

Looking at it now, he wishes he could have at least researched more into what he was getting into, but there’s _literally_ no more turning back now. Classes would begin in three days and he had to commit.

Junhui looks at him squarely in the face, scanning Wonwoo’s expression before grinning. “Well, it’s good you had the choice. Luhan wanted me to take up this program.”

“Luhan?” _Who were all these new names?_ Did Wonwoo miss out on some large first year assembly while he was still in the village?

“My foster father. He runs an independent pharmacy in Incheon and wants me to keep the ‘family business alive,’” he air quotes. “I don’t mind it, though. The program sounds interesting enough. Wouldn’t it be cool to know all these drugs and have people asking you about which one is for which disease? It’s like you’re going to be a legal drug pusher.”

His foster father? He says it so casually like it wasn’t a huge revelation. If he were in the village, Junhui would be hot gossip material for weeks. There weren’t many orphans in the village but those who were known to be definitely received a lot of crap for having illegitimate parents or caretakers. Wonwoo knew the feeling all too well. His mother had raised him from the tender year of six years old and beyond, his father having moved on somewhere else. Thinking about that hurts more than any of the villagers calling him a ‘bastard child.’

Wonwoo cuts his train of thoughts; if Junhui wanted to say more about it then he would. “I mean, isn’t that what pharmacists are?” he hums.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t have to be that lame. It can be like this.” Junhui reaches into a pocket inside his jacket and pulls out a pack of sour gummy candies. He pretends to scan the area as if he were an actual drug pusher trying to make a deal. “What you got? Migraines? Take this.” He raises his eyebrows with a knowing smile, nudging the pack of gummies into Wonwoo’s hands.

Wonwoo can’t help but smile at Junhui’s roleplay. “I’m pretty sure even that is illegal. Plus, why do you have those in your jacket pockets?”

Junhui shrugs and opens the pack, consuming a handful in one go, “You never know when you might need something to perk you up.” He tries feeding one to Wonwoo, almost pushing the poor sour gummy bear into the latter’s mouth.

Wonwoo takes the piece with his mouth and winces. He decides then and there that sour is Satan’s favorite flavor.

“Hey, lovebirds. You still with us?” Soonyoung chimes in. Jihoon and him were standing along the walkway of a massive building. “This is my college right here.” 

The College of Sports Science is surprisingly enormous; the main building spanned a towering five stories high with an extension that looked like a gymnasium. He could hear the loud cheers of a crowd coming from inside and the squeaking of shoes against hardwood floors. 

If this college were to be an ice cream flavor, it would be a supple honey lemon variant, a sweet yellow covering the walls with a bright and energetic undertone.

“They said that the other colleges on campus share this gymnasium for their Physical Education classes. Looks like I’m going to see more of you losers soon,” Soonyoung exclaims, trembling with excitement and itching to enter his college. It’s like he was meant to be in his program, in this building that seemed just as alive as him. “I’m going to head inside with Jihoon. You think you guys can make it to your college?”

Jihoon was still in his own world, bopping along to some EDM song that Wonwoo could hear from where he was standing. He was truly a quiet one.

Before Wonwoo can even open his mouth, Junhui beats him to the cut, his pack of sour gummies long been demolished, “It’s _literally_ just right there. No need to baby us, dad.”

“You could only wish I was your daddy,” Soonyoung responds with a suggestive eyebrow raise.

For the first time that day, Jihoon pipes up, cheeks flushed with a tinge of pink. “You’re disgusting,” he muses and adds a playful punch on Soonyoung’s shoulder.

“Ah! You hit like a bitch.” Soonyoung blurts out but still managing a boisterous laugh.

“That’s because you are a bitch.”

“Hey, only sometimes,” the blonde boy asserts, ruffling Jihoon’s hair with his palms. “We’ll head in for now. Text us when you’re done!” Soonyoung doesn’t even wait for a reply, already dragging a reluctant Jihoon inside with a death grip on the latter’s wrist.

“See ya,” Junhui drags out his words in a slow decrescendo, waving at the ghost of Soonyoung and Jihoon that was there just a few seconds ago. “They’re weird together, don’t you think?” 

With the pair gone inside the college, Wonwoo suddenly remembers that Junhui still has his arm wrapped around his neck. The noontime sun was heavily bearing down on them and beads of sweat were beginning to form on his skin, yet he couldn’t bring himself to pull the arm off. It felt strangely nice to have that feeling of friendship, though they’ve only known each other for a day. “I guess they just express themselves differently.”

Junhui can only shrug and mumble a curt, “Maybe,” before turning to head towards their own college.

And just as Soonyoung had said the night before, their college was just a few meters away, a small botanical garden separating the two structures. A distinct mint aroma filled the air.

In comparison to the College of Sports Science, the School of Pharmacy was the mama bear in the Goldilocks story. It was shorter and slimmer than its neighbor, but larger than the admissions office. The Neoclassical architectural style wasn’t exactly outdated, but it contrasted itself from the contemporary designs of its surroundings. The towering columns reminded him of what the Parthenon would have looked like on its heyday, a little stout and highly detailed. The frieze depicted some sort of ordered sequence, each one progressing like it was trying to tell a story.

The college was certainly a plain vanilla flavor, a staple of the class and never out of style.

Wonwoo then saw the Bowl of Hygiene ( _was it Hygiene? It had something to do with sanitation_ ) standing in front of him. Rust was scattered along the expanse of the statue, but golden pieces can still be seen when the sun shines directly on it.

Beside him, Junhui releases his arm and takes a complete 360-degree turn, taking in this new environment. He takes a deep breath then exhales, “You feel it yet, Jeon?”

He takes another good look at the college in front of him and all that registers in his brain is anxiety. It felt like all too much all at once, like jumping into a freezing pool without testing the waters. Everything was humungous, booming, and overwhelming and Wonwoo was a sore thumb in a sea of healthy fingers.

Even if he could consider the college to be vanilla, it was difficult to digest. Like trying the flavor again after avoiding it for years, possibly even decades.

It was happening right in front of him; he was facing his college, hours away from his village and his house, and it was horrifying. If the Wonwoo in the village was scared of the big city in the confines of his home, the Wonwoo that was already waist deep in Seoul and Sungkyunkwan University was metaphorically shitting himself.

 _Calm down, Wonwoo. This is not the place for a panic attack_. He takes a deep breath and grounds himself. _Take it one at a time_. Wonwoo tries to count three things he can sense to keep himself planted in reality. The cobblestone steps, the chattering of students passing by, and the scent of mint. _Mentha. It was from the genus Mentha_.

He had to take control. He mimics Junhui’s actions and opens his arms wide, exaggeratedly breathing in the air in the hopes of feeling anything but his anxiety crawling up his esophagus. Wonwoo manages a false smile and mutters, “I guess I just don’t feel it yet.”

If Junhui could sense Wonwoo’s internal struggle, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he walks up towards the Bowl of Bathtime and rubs a hand on the surface, walking back up to Wonwoo to-

Slap him.

“ _What the hell?_ ” He puts his hand up to where Junhui’s palm connected to his cheek. The skin still stings with the fresh rush of blood coloring his face like a tomato. “What was that for?”

“Do you feel it _nooow_?” Junhui gives a smug smile, looking very pleased with himself.

Wonwoo could only stare at him, any first-time jitters drowning under the flow of prostaglandins heading for his face. “Yep, definitely feeling the school spirit now. Let’s go, pharmacy, woohoo,” he deadpans. 

Junhui stifles a laugh and hooks his arm back along Wonwoo’s neck. “Let’s head inside, the sun is going to burn me to a crisp.”

A spacious foyer greeted the pair through the large wooden doors. Unlike the consistently white and gray colors that stained the other buildings on campus, the walls were painted a combination of greens and yellows. Like the college hired Electro to be their interior designer. A large group of students crowded the space, numerous booths lined up near the walls. From the wall hung a banner that read _Student Org Fair 2020_.

“Org Fair? Like student organizations?” Wonwoo inquired.

Both of them slowly moved towards the center of the foyer, spinning in place to observe their environment. “I guess these must be the college-based organizations. Like the ones exclusive to pharmacy students that is,” Junhui surmises. He picks up a brochure from a tabletop, scanning its contents. “Here, they listed down the different student organizations we could join.”

The brochure featured the usual organizations – the student government, a rotary club, an artists’ circle, the college sports team, and a socio-environmental union. However, what caught Wonwoo’s attention was the music organization at the near end of the brochure.

“Hey, first years, over here!” A voice beckoned to them.

Wonwoo looked up from the brochure to see a man from behind a booth, the Pharmacy Music Society booth, waving them over. It was impossible to miss the person calling them with his platinum blonde hair shining under fluorescent lights. Even from afar, he could see the way the boy’s jawline sloped into a sharp curve before rounding out near his cheeks. With longer hair, he might easily pass off as a woman.

As they approach, he recognizes the different quarter and half notes decorating the booth. A sign that reads ‘ _Are you KPop-ping? Take our music quiz!_ ’ is hanging from the table where a pair of girls are giggling softly and playing the said game on the other side of the booth.

“I saw you guys checking out my org all the way over there,” the boy discloses. Wonwoo looks back at the brochure and hides it behind his back, as if it would change things.

“Are you guys a music org?” Junhui asks blindly, completely ignoring the numerous music sheets on the table, the boy playing soft tunes with a guitar by the side, and the several music notes plastered on the booth. Basically, all the evidence needed to conclude with certainty that this organization was, in fact, a musically inclined one.

The boy behind the booth seems unfazed, simply raising his smile and answering with a quick nod of agreement. “I’m Jeonghan, Vice Chairperson of the Pharmacy Music Society. What are your names?”

“I’m Junhui, or Jun if you like that better.” He beams Jeonghan his full set of pearly whites and adds, “And this fine piece of ass right here is Wonwoo. We’re both taking up Pharmacy.”

Wonwoo tries to ignore Junhui’s introduction because he knows for a fact that he does not have an ass that could be considered _fine_.

“Junhui and Wonwoo, gotcha,” He points between them, looking heavily amused. “You first years interested in joining an org this year?”

Wonwoo was about to shake his head in disagreement, when Junhui responds, “We are!” He grips one of Wonwoo’s shoulders, awaiting the latter’s approval.

 _Fuck_. He didn’t even consider the possibility of joining an org when he enrolled. He wanted to focus on his academic work and sit out on the extracurricular activities. It felt like too much of a distraction to participate in meetings and host events and whatnot.

He couldn’t afford to procrastinate and risk failing his subjects. Wonwoo was in the city to succeed.

But here he was, Jeonghan looking at him expectantly and Junhui with his gummy smile and all and it was like he was backed up against a corner. He could feel the peer pressure burning holes into his skin.

Wonwoo looked to the ground and nodded his head. “Y-yeah, we are.”

Jeonghan’s smiles unbelievably widens, “That’s great! Do you have any organizations you want to know about? Any that tickle your fancy?” His sharp black eyes were staring straight into Wonwoo’s soul. “I’m a member of almost every org in this college so I can give you a lay of the land.” 

“Every org? That’s insane; how do you handle all that responsibility?” Junhui asks.

“I guess you could say that I don’t,” he chuckles nervously. “I’m what you call a delayed student.”

Wonwoo’s curiosity gets the better of him, barely able to hold his tongue to stop himself from inquiring, “Delayed?”

“Well, that’s what you call a student who is a year or two behind his or her actual batchmates. Technically, I’m supposed to be graduating this year, but a combination of Organic Chemistry and my seven orgs kept me on a chain and leash for another year.” Jeonghan’s smile slowly drops and is replaced with something more lethargic. “So, here I am. Stuck here for two more years while Jisoo over here is flapping his wings to who knows where,” he says while gesturing to the guitar playing boy beside him.

Jisoo looks up from where he’s plucking a strikingly familiar tune on his guitar, sending them a small grin before serenading the two girls playing the org’s welcoming game. Unlike Jeonghan, his doe eyes compliment his softer and rounder facial features with cinnamon-brown hair. Wonwoo could recognize the song he was playing from a few strums alone. _Through the Night_ , his favorite song.

“I didn’t know they’d still keep students if they flunked a subject,” Junhui mentions, sifting through sheet music. His bangs are covering his eyes again and Wonwoo can only wonder how he can still see through those things.

“Me, too, honestly. They said it had something to do with ‘second chances’ and ‘seeing the best in people’ or some sappy shit like that,” Jeonghan shrugs. “It’s as they say with this university: it’s hard to get in and it’s hard to get out.”

Not one bit of his words felt reassuring. For someone who was supposed to be encouraging them to join an org, Jeonghan was surprisingly blunt about the repercussions of participating in one.

“But, hey, that could just be me. I’m not exactly cream of the crop material like everyone else in Sungkyunkwan.”

Junhui scoffs, “Don’t sell yourself short, dude. I’m sure you’re better than you give yourself credit for.”

“Well, let’s see if I move up again this year. Maybe then I can get back to you on that.”

Jisoo calls out from his chair, “Yo, Han, we’re here to entice these first years to join our org, not scare them away.” He had stopped playing his guitar and began to approach them. The duo of girls he was playing had seemingly disappeared. Wonwoo doesn’t miss the way Jeonghan instantly looks down, looking quite flustered. _There’s something there_ , he thinks. “Are you guys into music?”

“Isn’t everyone?” Junhui replies sarcastically. The boy had a point, though. Who didn’t have their own tunes to bop their head to? Bad people, that’s who.

Jisoo scoffs at the response, “You’re a feisty one. What I mean to say was do you guys like to sing or play an instrument? Because that’s essentially everything we do here. We’re what you call a ‘cultural organization,’” he air quotes. “Not into anything too serious, just here to appreciate some classical riffs and experimental twangs in this loud city. We play for some college events and hold an annual fundraising concert at the end of the year. Other than that, we just have our own space to bring life to this place.”

“Hey, don’t try to steal these kiddos, I saw them first,” Jeonghan argues. “But what Jisoo says is true. The Pharmacy Music Society is kind of like the hippie crowd in the college. We focus on our music and do our own thing.”

“Oh, yeah, the hippie thing. We usually rehearse our music by the large sycamore tree in the yard so some of the professors here call us ‘bums.’” Jisoo laughs at that, probably recalling a memory of said bum-name calling. “Circling back to my question, are you first years interested in joining our org?”

This time around, Wonwoo doesn’t seem too reluctant when he says, “Yeah.” The way they described their org didn’t sound too overbearing and it could be an extra something he could put in his resume someday. _Trained as a Professional Music Bum for 4 years_.

Junhui glances at him with a surprised face before shrugging. “If Jeon is in, so am I.”

“Great!” Jeonghan whips out a sign-up sheet and hands it over to the pair. “All you have to do is put your name and some contact details so we can send you the details on the audition-“

Wonwoo was just about to write his name when he heard the last word. “Audition? Like we have to play in front of you guys?”

Jisoo and Jeonghan share a look before the former responds, “Yeah, students who want to join our org have to prove that they deserve to be in it. We may be bums, but we are bums with standards. As the Chairperson of the Pharmacy Music Society, I have to make sure we don’t let just anyone into this esteemed organization.” Jisoo straightens his posture and tries to flaunt his business face.

“But we totally do,” Jeonghan mutters under his breath before receiving a nudge on the shoulder from Jisoo. “Don’t worry, we just want to see what you got. Do you guys sing or maybe play an instrument?”

“I used to play the piano as a kid. Not sure if I still have the same nimble fingers now, though.” Junhui curls his digits while examining them. “Guess we’ll just have to see.”

Jisoo beams with excitement. “That’s good! Our pianist just graduated so, we’re looking to recruit some.” He turns his attention to Jeonghan, “One of those girls just now said she could also play the piano and was planning on auditioning. Her name was Dahyun or something like that.”

“That’s a relief. The more the merrier, really. How about you, Wonwoo?” Jeonghan gives a gentle grin.

With all eyes on him, Wonwoo feels flustered. He’s never been one to handle attention well, more comfortable in the back corner of the room or as a theatre hand during a play. He adjusts his glasses with his index finger before responding, “I can play the guitar.”

Known only to some, Wonwoo had a plethora of useful so-called party tricks up his sleeves gently inching their way out. He knew how to shave cattle, how to pick out fruits and vegetables with ease, and, best of all, he knew how to play the guitar. It was one of the things he was proud to call his own. 

He may not know how to operate a computer beyond the typing applications nor know how to play sports even if his life depended on it, but he knew how to go through the strings as if they were embedded in his skin. The rough calluses on his fingers knew the sharp tension all too well. He knew where the rust in his mother’s old guitar was even without looking, instinctively placing his fingers on different areas to avoid untoward injury. 

His mother had surprised him when he was seven years old when she played her favorite songs for him, touching each string with a softness and concentration that was unmatched. Wonwoo was awestruck and was practically on his knees begging his mom to teach him how to play. He hates to admit it, but this is how he learned to perfect his signature “ _kicked-kitten-only-wanting-what-is-best-for-the-human_ ” pout. His mother could only shake her head as she gleefully put Wonwoo on her lap and gently guided his hands on the definitely-not-for-kids-sized guitar.

Wonwoo would remember spending all of his study breaks easing his way through the basic chords and finger styles. His mother loved it when he played, so much so that she excused him from his duties on the field whenever he offered to play for her as she worked. Call Wonwoo lazy, but his mind was one step ahead. 

“That’s dope, man. I’m excited to hear you play.” Jisoo retrieves his guitar and begins to strum on the strings, setting with his feet on top of the table.

Wonwoo and Junhui fill out the sign-up sheet and hand it back to Jeonghan who stares at them like they were signing away their voice to some sea witch.

“We’ll keep in touch with you guys. We usually hold the auditions on the second week of the semester. Things in this university can pick up pretty quickly so, we don’t want to interfere with your personal schedules and whatnot.” Jeonghan puts away the sign-up sheet, arranges the sheet music Junhui just disarranged, and swats away Jisoo’s feet. “Are you first years excited for the semester?”

In the span of time they had been conversing, the crowd in the foyer had dwindled down, everyone probably having lunch. The remaining bodies were all org members left to fend off their own booths against eager first year students.

“I don’t know what to expect, honestly,” Wonwoo revealed. “The university brochure didn’t mention a lot about life on campus.”

Ah, the cursed university brochure. Aside from the usual mission-vision, history, and program offerings of the university, the stupid thing had merely shown scenic shots on campus, a few students pretending to study on the grass (even though no one in their right minds would be placing their MacBook on the ground), and models too old to be considered college students. In short, it had greater use as toilet paper than as an infographic. 

“I guess there’s not really anything to mention,” Jeonghan shrugs. “This university is all about the academics and mental suffering.” 

Jisoo lightly kicks Jeonghan from where he is seated. “Don’t scare them, Han.” He then turns to face the pair in front of the booth. “It’s not all that bad, I swear. Your first year is your adjustment year so, I’m advising you to take it slow. There are tons of things to look forward to, like the first-year welcoming party.” 

“And the Winter Festival,” Jeonghan chimes in. The boy had grabbed a seat and sat beside Jisoo who was still strumming soft tunes to fill the silence in the foyer. Other students were silently humming along from their booths, too preoccupied with their cellphones or munching on their food.

“I heard about the Winter Festival from Minghao. He said it was like some sort of pop-up carnival.” Junhui was readjusting his ponytail with a piece of elastic hair tie he had around his wrist.

“It’s the one thing this university knows how to do right,” Jisoo exclaims. “They might be the type of people to disperse student activists and constantly cut funding for research projects-“

“For the last time,” Jeonghan says exasperatedly, “your thesis proposal on the use of ghost chili peppers as a universal antidote had no scientific basis-“

Jisoo ignores him, “-but if there’s one thing they know how to do, it’s host the Winter Festival. They decorate the quad in all these blinking fairy lights and snowmen, and the School of Art and the College of Science always pair up to create this holographic aurora borealis show. It’s awesome.”

“Yeah, all the couples pile up on their blankets and make out,” Jeonghan adds. “It’s both magical and fucking disgusting.”

It did sound amazing. The aurora borealis show, not the making out. Something about a winter wonderland in the city felt like a pipe dream come true. 

Winters in the village were Wonwoo’s favorite. The land would be impenetrable so, his mom would shift to her cross-stitching which she would not let him interfere in. This meant his Christmas could be spent enjoying the endless white planes or ice-skating by the lake with friends.

Not that he had friends he could do those things with.

“Hey, that’s the music org I was talking about, Seokmin,” a voice resounds behind him.

Wonwoo turns around to find the source of the voice before almost colliding face first with a boy rushing to the booth.

“Sorry, man,” the boy apologizes, adjusting Wonwoo’s stricken posture. “Is this the Pharmacy Music Society?”

Jeonghan gets up from his seat to greet him. “It is. Are you looking to be oriented?”

“I’m actually planning on signing up!” The boy returns a smile that reminds Wonwoo of Soonyoung’s signature eye smile.

“That’s great!” Jeonghan hands the boy the sign-up sheet before asking, “How’d you find out about us? Are you a legacy?”

The boy was writing down his name on the sign-up sheet, _Lee Seokmin, BS Pharmaceutical Sciences_. “Nope, but my boy Mingyu is and I was going on and on about what orgs I wanted to join and-“

“Hey, Minghao, over here!” Junhui was calling out to a lanky boy with ears akin to those of elves.

Minghao approached with another boy trailing behind him. “Junhui, hi. I didn’t expect to see you today.” He shares a short handshake with Junhui. “Did you get to make that congee I showed you yesterday?”

“Yeah, but I made some modifications to the recipe-“

Wonwoo began to slowly drown out everyone’s conversations. To his one side, Seokmin was telling Jeonghan all about his nearly four-octave vocal range and, on the other side, Junhui and Minghao had begun conversing in Cantonese, something he had no intentions of attempting to interpret. 

In his peripheral vision, he could see the boy behind Minghao biting at his nails nervously. He looked just as lost as Wonwoo.

He’s not sure what gravitates him to the boy but, a few seconds later, he’s already trying to start a conversation. “Hey.”

The boy actually looks behind him, as if to check if Wonwoo was talking to him. “Hey,” he replies.

“What’s your name?” Wonwoo’s not the best with first moves, but even he knows this is borderline awkward. It was like trying to talk to a kindergartener.

“I’m Mingyu. Kim Mingyu.” He stops chewing at his poor nails to give Wonwoo a smile. He had slightly jagged teeth but prominent canines.

“Cool.” _Cool?_ What about his name is cool? Is Wonwoo trying to showcase how socially inept he is to this stranger? He shakes his head to regain some of his nonexistent confidence, “I-I’m-“

“You’re Jeon Wonwoo,” Mingyu states matter-of-factly.

Wonwoo was surprised that Mingyu knew who he was. “How do you know my name?” Back in the village, people knew him as the overachiever who put Bodeok on the map. It was sort of a given that everyone knew who Wonwoo was there given his fame (or notoriety). But in the city?

“Don’t worry, I’m not like a creepy stalker or something,” Mingyu raises his hands in surrender. “You’re the one who won the National Chemistry League Showdown a few years back.”

“Right. I didn’t think anyone would remember who I was.” And he meant it. Unlike the other contestants, Wonwoo arrived in the venue the day of the competition after missing out on the icebreaker activities that transpired the night before and skipping out on hotel accommodations due to lack of school funding. As soon as the event ended in the evening, he claimed the trophy and took the late-night bus back to the village.

Wonwoo doesn’t remember much from his first visit to the city, but he does recall the fast food take out his chemistry teacher bought him for their lunch. It was his first ever taste of city food. He kept the paper bag from that meal in one of his treasure boxes under his bed back at home.

He always dreamed of returning to the city to spend time exploring or sightseeing the next time he would participate in the competition, but he never got the chance. His school never participated in the competition again due to the absence of a cash prize.

“I do, I was the first runner-up that year.” Mingyu’s smile slips and his voice comes out slightly bitter, and Wonwoo suddenly notices how much taller Mingyu is compared to him. He feels strangely intimidated.

“I-I’m sorry?”

Mingyu’s frown is quickly replaced with a puppy-like grin and he slaps Wonwoo’s shoulders a little too harshly. “It’s alright, dude, you earned it.”

Wonwoo could only force a smile in return and hoped to all the angels and saints above for some divine intervention to spare him from this awkward situation.

His prayer was answered in the form of Junhui hooking his arm around his neck once more. “Hey, Jeon, Minghao over here was telling me about this café Seokmin’s family runs near our dorm. He said it was like some sort of student hub. Want to check it out with them?”

Wonwoo nods while trying to create some distance from Mingyu. He could sense the tension bubbling even though he considers himself emotionally dense. They can explore their college some other day; he felt too spent from all the human interaction he just went through and it was only noon.

Luckily, Junhui seems to sense this because he doesn’t try to strike up a conversation with Wonwoo as they decide to head back to the College of Sports Science. They bid a short farewell to Jeonghan and Jisoo, who were discussing some org-related matters, as they departed.

They return to the scorching heat of the noontime sun and perspiration immediately begins to form, making Wonwoo’s plaid button-down stick to his skin. Despite the numerous trees dispersed along the pathways, there was no breeze to cool them off.

Soonyoung and Jihoon were waiting for them outside the college and their little group shared a few brief introductions. Seokmin immediately hit it off with Soonyoung, both having a propensity for eye smiles and possessing energies that could power entire cities. Mingyu was recounting a story to Minghao using an excessive amount of hand gestures with the latter giggling softly every now-and-then.

Jihoon had migrated to the back of the bunch to where Wonwoo was walking with Junhui. He still had his Airpods at an inappropriate volume while tapping on a piano application on his phone. Meanwhile, Junhui beside him was scrolling through his phone, stopping every time an animal or meme appeared on screen.

Wonwoo appreciated the silence of the moment and the foreign experience of walking with a group.

Even with the summer haze giving him a mild headache and the weight of Junhui’s arm slumped on his shoulder, Wonwoo didn’t feel the least bit uncomfortable.

“Hyung!”

“Chan!” Seokmin rushed over to hug the boy over the counter. “Thanks for taking over my shift.”

Everything about the café screamed 2010 Tumblr girl aesthetic. Wonwoo had once explored the site on a whim (and a secret desire to search for _Clannad_ fanart). What he uncovered, aside from the adorable world of the dango daikazoku, was that everyone’s ideal first date had to be at an indie hideout with the plastic plants and fairy lights strung about with the date having to be some sort of hipster with round wire-rimmed glasses and an affinity for coffee and calligraphy.

And Wonwoo only had round wire-rimmed glasses.

“I don’t mind; the extra hours reflect in my paycheck.” Chan says while pressing on several buttons on a coffee machine. He looked way too young to be working.

The group had sat down on one of the longer wooden tables, sort of like the ones you see in depictions of the Last Supper. Lucky for Wonwoo and his screaming wallet, the others had lined up to get drinks.

Nothing tasted better than free tap water.

He sits on the far end of one of the wooden benches, purposely trying to avoid Mingyu who keeps trying to sneak glances at him whenever Mingyu thinks Wonwoo isn’t looking. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but he didn’t want to stick around to find out.

“You good, Jeon?” Even while seated, Junhui had his hand hanging off one of Wonwoo’s shoulders. He was drinking from his coffee with way too much sugar and his breath smelled like last-minute review sessions.

The café was filled with young adults either tapping aggressively on their laptops or highlighting a rainbow over some book. Seokmin had explained on the way over that their café was one of the few places in the vicinity that allowed people to charge their gadgets if they bought an item on the menu. Needless to say, each table was filled with used coffee cups and heat-sustaining thermoses next to a mountain of papers.

Wonwoo nods in reply and tries to play with the opened sugar packets on the table.

Junhui spares him a look while taking a swig from his coffee, “You sure about that? So you aren’t trying to avoid the overgrown puppy at the other side of the table?”

He immediately shushes Junhui who only chuckles in reply. For someone who looked perpetually tired, Junhui was quick to catch onto things. “I don’t know, he just makes me uncomfortable,” Wonwoo shrugs.

“Do you need me to go beat him up for you? There’s an alley right outside, Jeon-“

Wonwoo rolls his eyes but smiles, nonetheless. 

“Although, I don’t think I can actually lay a hand on him. Minghao tells me he’s part of Sungkyunkwan royalty or something. His parents and his parents’ parents all graduated from there. He’s a legend or something.”

“A legacy,” Jihoon corrects. Wonwoo flinches, forgetting that Jihoon was seated right in front of them since he hadn’t said a word since they sat down. He was sure people like Jihoon could pass off as assassins with how silent he was being.

Junhui claps his hands and clunks his head. “Yeah, that’s it! What is that?”

Even with music blasting in his ears, Jihoon is capable of swatting away Soonyoung’s hand from his plate of cookies. “That’s what they call the students who have parents who graduated from the institution. They get instant admission into the university regardless of their CSAT scores.”

“That’s a thing? Doesn’t it seem unfair that they’re taking up the slots of other students who fought their way up and did well on the CSAT?” Junhui chimes in.

Wonwoo didn’t want to admit it, but he shared the same sentiments. After spending his entire life using second- or third-hand books and run-down laboratory equipment back in the village, Wonwoo had felt like he had defied all odds to earn his spot in the university. The thought that other students just had to be the child of an alumnus to gain admission made him feel uneasy.

“It’s always been like that,” Jihoon shrugs, “but Mingyu’s no ordinary student. He’s one of those child-prodigy types.” He begins to type in Mingyu’s name into a search engine on his phone and a long list of articles pop up. 

Apparently, Kim Mingyu was a reincarnation of Leonardo DaVinci in the modern world because his name was plastered over headlines on almost anything. 

_South Korean contender Kim Mingyu defeats hundreds, setting a world record in International Brainiac Competition._

_’I’m a human calculator’: a look into the life of child prodigy Kim Mingyu._

_Sungkyunkwan legacy and wonder child Kim Mingyu to study pharmacy this coming fall._

They scroll through a few more articles, each one describing Mingyu’s achievements as the child of two neurosurgeons who was soon to follow in their footsteps. Mingyu was allegedly being scouted by universities abroad but had opted to stay in South Korea following his parents’ request. _The wonders of insider interviews._

After skimming through more articles, a particular headline catches Wonwoo’s attention.

_National Chemistry League Showdown: Crowd favorite Kim Mingyu bows out to small-town newcomer._

He feels a strange chill run down his spine. Is this why Mingyu was acting so strange earlier? Why there was an air of hostility flying around? While his victory felt like an achievement, Wonwoo couldn’t help but feel like he had tarnished Mingyu’s reputation somehow.

“Holy shit.” Junhui gulps down the rest of his coffee and practically shivers with caffeine. “He _is_ a legend!”

Jihoon puts away his phone and adjusts the baseball cap he has on. “Yeah, so I wish you two good luck. They say the professors here are a stickler for favoritism. That means only the students they remember get the good marks.”

“That’s cool, dude. I’m not here to be some star student like you-know-who,” Junhui nudges his head over to the other side of the table. “I don’t want to waste my time and energy trying to top someone who’s a mountain above me. Ain’t my battle, you know?”

As strange as Junhui’s words were, Wonwoo gets it. He wasn’t exactly a vocal student back in the village since he mostly claimed the back seat of the room and kept to his own devices. He just let his projects and exam scores speak for themselves. 

Plus, just the thought of striving to always recite in class was already draining his social battery. Wonwoo hated having eyes focused on him and he had grown this sixth sense for when people did.

Like right now. Wonwoo, even with Junhui and Minghao sitting between them, can sense Mingyu staring at him. Wonwoo dares to look over, only to see Mingyu give him a facial expression he can’t quite decipher. The latter is quick to look away, comically laughing at Soonyoung’s tiger impression.

“Seungcheol hyung!” Seokmin half-screams.

Patrons collectively shush their table and send them nasty looks. The boy he assumes to be Seungcheol has a coffee cup in hand, an in-ear piece plugged in, and a messenger bag slung over his shoulder. Very elite college student-chic. 

“Hey, Seokmin. I didn’t expect to see you here. Chan said you were checking out the campus,” Seungcheol acknowledges him with a light tap on the back. He turns to address the rest of the table, “Are you all firsties?”

The table nods their head in chorus.

Seungcheol clears his throat and adjusts his sweater vest. “I’m Choi Seungcheol, student council president for the School of Pharmacy.” He gives a polite bow and adds, “Are you all pharmacy students?”

Soonyoung is quick to respond with a full smile, “Nope. I’m taking up Sports Sciences and Jihoon over here is taking up Behavioral Sciences.” He loops a hand around Jihoon’s shoulders only to be nudged off just as fast.

Man, whatever energy drink Soonyoung was taking, Wonwoo wanted a daily dose of it. It might just give him the confidence he needs to at least function like a social animal. Somewhere in philosophical heaven, Aristotle is probably tossing and turning on his bed thinking about socially awkward Jeon Wonwoo. 

“The rest of us are, though!” Seokmin begins to point at everyone at the table. “Of course, you know Mingyu. This is Minghao, Junhui, and…” His finger stops and wags at Wonwoo. “It’s at the tip of my tongue,” he chuckles nervously.

He tries to not feel hurt that Seokmin couldn’t even remember his two-syllable name ( _that was almost identical in syllable construction, thank you_.) “I’m Wonwoo.” He lifts his hand for a short wave. Seungcheol does a quick once-over and nods.

“It’s nice to see a bunch of fresh faces in the crowd. I hope you guys are excited for this school year because the student council has a bunch of events planned for you firsties.” He speaks like a politician with his confident and even tone that’s full of promises that may or may not be real. “And Mr. Kim, we’re glad to have you in the college with us. On behalf of the student council, I would like to personally thank your family for your continuous support and generous donations for the college,” Seungcheol extends his hand to Mingyu for a handshake.

“It’s fine,” Mingyu raises his palm to gently decline the gesture. “My family is more than happy to finance the School of Pharmacy and its numerous projects.” His voice comes out slightly (very) arrogant and Wonwoo can’t help but mentally roll his eyes.

“Kiss-ass,” Junhui mutters under his breath and Wonwoo almost chokes on his own spit. Even Jihoon was giving him a wide-eyed glance and a mischievous grin. 

Seungcheol was eyeing the trio suspiciously before raising his business face back on. “I’ll make sure to pass your words on to the other council members.” His phone rings to a slow jazz tune which he immediately silences. “Looks like I have to run.”

“Another date, hyung?” Seokmin teases. “Who’s the lucky guy this time?”

A faint blush runs through Seungcheol’s face. “That is beyond the scope of this conversation, Seokmin. Maybe when it makes it to the third date then I’ll tell you all about it.” He adjusts his bangs and flashes a gummy smile.

Everyone seems to react to Seungcheol’s words differently. While Seokmin and Mingyu were both nudging Seungcheol to pry him for more information, Wonwoo doesn’t miss the way Soonyoung was suddenly subdued with no signs of his energy from earlier. Soonyoung was squirming in his seat, seemingly scrolling through air on his phone.

“Alright, alright, I’ll keep you posted. Now, please, I’m going to be late. See you kids later,” Seungcheol waves the group off before bolting through the front doors.

“For the student council president, he sure does have a lot of time on his hands to go on dates,” Minghao remarks.

“You wouldn’t imagine. This place is like his second home,” Seokmin gestures around him. “If he’s not here for all-nighters, he’s here for student council meetings, and if he’s not here for that, he has another date he’s waiting to meet up with. His schedule is probably a glorified wreck.”

A set of new customers had entered and were lining up to get their orders. Chan was doing a surprisingly efficient job handling everyone’s orders, calling out names left and right with an authoritative voice that shouldn’t belong to a 17-year old.

Mingyu was just about to finish his tea as he pipes up, “I wish I had my priorities set straight like him. Sometimes I feel like I’m not getting anywhere, you know?”

Wonwoo can only look at him with his mouth agape. That was rich coming from the man who would most probably be on the science world’s equivalent of Forbes’ ’30 Under 30’ list if they had one (which they probably should, now that he thinks about it.) If Wonwoo was rolling his eyes before, they’re now Humpty Dumpty having a great fall at this point.

Soonyoung had finally broken from his stupor and had more color on his face. “Don’t worry about it, dude. I’m sure we’ll have his award-winning time management skills in no time. Soon enough, we’ll be drinking the night before exams or whatever.”

“That sounds like a horrible idea,” Mingyu replies. “Though I’m not opposed to drinking.”

“We should go out some time then, loosen up a little before the semester starts.”

Seokmin seems to agree, if the impossible growth in his immaculate smile were to signal anything. “I know a place a few blocks over that have these authentic jukeboxes that play trot songs if you feed them a few coins. We should totally check it out!”

“Yeah, let’s all go before this university kicks us in the ass,” Junhui approved.

Wonwoo didn’t seem all that pleased with the idea of a boy’s night out. While he sort-of enjoyed the company of this small group, he didn’t know them well enough to become inebriated around them, let alone allow them to see that he is the lightest of all of the lightweights.

“Oh, can we do it tomorrow? I have a doctor’s appointment I have to go to in an hour,” Minghao asks and receives hums of agreement from the table.

“It’s settled then,” Soonyoung calls out while standing up from his seat. “Tomorrow night, we all get shitfaced drunk and regret in the morning!” He then lets out a loud ‘ _yaha_ ’ which scores him disapproving glances from the entire establishment.

Wonwoo hides his face on top of the table. _I don’t know these people, I don’t know these people, I don’t know these people_ , he tells himself.

Chan approaches their table with folded arms over his basil apron. “Hyung, can you take this conversation somewhere else? I’m receiving complaints.”

“Aw, come on, Channie, loosen up a little.” Seokmin pleads with puppy eyes.

“Cut that out, hyung. You know that stopped working on me years ago.” Chan was already clearing out their table and pulling Seokmin up to his feet. “There are new customers and I have to keep the foot traffic moving.”

“Alright, alright, we’re going.” Seokmin raises his hands in defeat. Everyone had collected their things and were a few steps out the door. “You’re cold, Channie. I’m sure dad would be proud.”

Chan scoffs at the comment. “If being cold gets me that new Scarlet Witch figurine I was eyeing, then you better be prepared for a blizzard. See ya around, hyung!” He then slams the glass door in their faces while waving them off.

“He’s really something, huh?” Minghao pats Seokmin on the back who only shrugs in response.

“If you’ve lived with him long enough, you get used to it. You should have been there when he was going through puberty. There were slamming doors and petty tantrums thrown everywhere.”

“I heard that!” Chan yells from inside. “Y’all better get moving before I make you move.”

And with that, the group disperses before they feel the wrath of a coffee maker in their faces.

“ _It’s okay, my son_.”

The voice resounds in his eardrums. He could recognize the warm timbre in a heartbeat. There’s a subtle scratch in the voice that sounds like fear or anguish.

He’s running in the fields and the wind is blowing through his hair. The thin cotton shirt he has on suddenly feels like it’s a thousand degrees too warm. The sun is at its climax and it colors the scenery a bright white. 

His vision is flooding with hot liquid. _Are these tears?_ If they are, they refuse to fall out.

He’s gasping for air, his lungs begging him to stop and catch a breath, but his legs just keep on moving. He feels his knees beginning to buckle under the pressure and he silently prays that he makes it.

He sees the field of olives in his peripheral vision. They gleam a beautiful white to contrast the sea of greens and blues. This was the marker he used whenever he walked back from school. It tells him that he was almost home.

He passes by the cows his family owns. Their black-and-white coats begin to swirl in his vision, and he wishes that they could run like a cheetah and bring him to his mom. He had no time to waste.

Because he just saw his dad. And he was… he was-

He hears a loud crack and his ankles give out. He falls into a rice paddy he hadn’t noticed in his haste. 

He staggers to get on his feet but the pain cuts straight through him. He bites his lips to muffle the sensation until he begins to taste iron.

He tries to inspect his injury, but his entire body is covered in mud and drenched with water. He attempts to reposition himself only to be stricken by a wave of lightning-like agony. His eyes were colored a deep red in the midst of his tears.

 _Move, idiot. Move._ He tries to will himself to start crawling but the mud in his hands offer no traction and he’s almost immobilized.

He screams once, twice, thrice, as much as his vocal cords can handle, for anyone to hear him. To help him. 

But he knows there’s no one close enough to hear his cries.

He calls out once more, forcing his throat out of his mouth. His voice breaks but he couldn’t care less. 

The sound that comes out of his mouth begins to fade out entirely, until he is suddenly silenced. 

He forces himself to speak but only air comes out. What was he going to do now?

A hand appears in front of him.

At first, he thinks it’s God’s hands, but even he knows that’s just ridiculous. The fingers are long and slender, calloused at the tips like they were accustomed to playing the guitar. It’s sun-kissed and warm and inviting.

As he approaches the hand to take it, it suddenly draws back. Swift and defensive, as if they were about to be burned.

He looks up to see the owner, but the face is hidden in the shadows despite the sunlight reflecting from every which way.

He opens his mouth to no avail. Nothing was coming out. He could only mouth out the word _why_.

“ _What were you thinking, Wonwoo? Are you really that gullible_?”

A crowd had formed around them. They all look at him like he was a freak of nature with five heads. The shock, horror, and disbelief that bleeds from their face hurts more than his broken ankle.

Before he could turn to look back at the person in front of him, he’s submerged head-first into the water.

Wonwoo sits up from his bed.

He’s heaving for air, any amount of oxygen he can take in. The sheets are soaked with his sweat and he can feel himself shiver in the cool of the air conditioning.

His eyes are still adjusting to the darkness of the night. He checks his phone to see the time. _2:31 AM_. A loud screech of a car coming to an alarming stop outside and Junhui’s bear-during-hibernation snores tell him that he is, in fact, in his dorm room in the city.

Wonwoo rubs his eyes to get them to adjust faster. His vision was flooded with the imaginary worms moving from end to end like a television screensaver.

He hadn’t had that dream in a while, convinced that the universe finally had mercy on him.

But he knows by now that the universe hates Jeon Wonwoo and wants to see him suffer. The universe was weird like that.

Wonwoo gets up to drink water and to put on a fresh set of clothes. He fishes out the rosary he had packed in his bag. It was a small bracelet that his mom had made for him as a gift on his Confirmation day. Even in the dead of night, he could see the subtle glimmer of the rose quartz gems that looped gently around the lace.

He climbs back up to his bed, sits down, and closes his eyes. He recalls what day of the week it is and recites the mysteries, hoping that it can give him some solace and ease him back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY HOSHI DAY!
> 
> I apologize if this chapter seems very draggy and kind of filler-ish. It's mostly universe-building, but I promise the plot picks up in the succeeding chapters!
> 
> Thank you for everyone who made the time to read through this certified word vomit of a chapter. I hope to keep pushing more out in a regular basis.
> 
> Anywho, please do remember to sign petitions and donate, if you can! Our fellow people deserve better than to be treated like crap by the same forces that promise to protect us. It's gone on long enough. Spread the word and stay informed, everyone! This is not a movement that should die with the trend; it's a lifestyle we have to integrate and propagate. #BlackLivesMatter #ACAB


	3. Tyramine

The weekend passes by like a whirlwind.

On Saturday morning, Soonyoung retreated to his house to recover more of his laundry and other school supplies. He had dragged an unusually ecstatic Jihoon with him. They were probably glad to leave their dismal dormitory even for just a morning.

Junhui had accompanied Wonwoo on a simple part-time job hunt in the vicinity of the university. Junhui had already landed a position in the local bookstore, a position Wonwoo would have killed to get his hands on had he not been beaten to it by his roommate. He was not in the mood to murder his roommate. Yet.

By chance, they stumbled upon a small grocery store that posted a _For hire!_ sign and had one position remaining for inventory management. The owner, Mrs. Kang, told them that the previous employees had just graduated and that she was on the lookout for more college students to fill in the empty slots.

“I’m sure the community will be happy to see some fresh faces serving them this year!” Mrs. Kang beamed with her plump cheeks rising to extremely high levels. “Along with you are these two adorable high-school students. They were bickering left and right, but my maternal instincts tell me that they had a lot of heart.”

“T-that’s alright, Mrs. Kang. I’m excited to meet them and to work for you.” Wonwoo offers a polite bow before nudging the family-sized pack of fruit snacks off Junhui’s hands.

“I’ll see you next weekend, dear!”

Saturday afternoon had Wonwoo installing different office applications on his laptop and entering himself into the university system. Junhui was merciful enough to sense the dear-in-the-headlights look on his face and offered to help on some (the majority) of the work.

Then, Saturday evening came around.

While he wasn’t opposed to spending time with his newfound group, he despised the idea of alcohol being included in the criteria for the gathering. Wonwoo had never tried any form of alcohol in his lifetime except for when he accidentally mistook his dad’s white wine for apple juice when he was five years old.

Soonyoung returned a little after 6 PM and immediately put away his luggage to get ready for the evening, styling his hair back and putting on what Wonwoo thinks is eyeliner.

Junhui prepared himself for the evening with his pre-game concoction that Wonwoo dare not investigate. Junhui had also found a way to hide his waterfall hair inside a sturdy baseball cap, showcasing his straight jawline that architects can probably use in making their drafts.

And here Wonwoo was – still in his pajamas, nestled under his sheets with a book on his lap, and his cellphone playing soft lo-fi beats.

“When are you going to get ready?” Soonyoung called out from the bathroom where he was putting the finishing touches to his punk rock get-up.

Wonwoo stops flipping through the pages of his book and stared straight into a spot where the words were beginning to warp in shape and form. It was time to bite the bullet. “Um, I don’t think I’m coming tonight.”

Soonyoung whips his head out of the bathroom at comical speeds, “What, why not?”

Wonwoo sorts through his list of reasons for opting out of the evening’s festivities, which notably included his aversion to alcohol, his miniature-sized social battery, and the overgrown golden retriever that he dare not name, and picks the lamest of them all. “I think I’m coming down with something,” he says, adding a forced cough for good measure.

Unsurprisingly, Junhui was shaking his head at Wonwoo’s blatant lie, already downing his ruby red drink in one long gulp. Wonwoo tries to look at his reaction but gets flustered when he sees Junhui’s collarbone poking out of his white shirt that is inappropriately unbuttoned at the top.

Surprisingly, Soonyoung seems to believe Wonwoo’s shitfest and climbs up to put a hand on Wonwoo’s forehead. “Aw, you don’t think you can go out even for just a little while?”

Wonwoo hesitates for a bit before committing, “Sorry, I think that might make things worse. I should probably like lie down or something.”

“Come on, it will be fun! I’ll make sure no one gives you anything funky or makes you do anything too crazy,” Soonyoung pleads with wide hamster eyes.

Wonwoo almost implodes when Junhui cuts in. “Cut it out, Soonyoung. He said he wanted to stay in, and we should let him.” He finished his sentence looking away from them.

Soonyoung offers a final pout, which is nowhere near adorable with the amount of eyeliner he has on, before giving in with a curt nod. “Fine,” he prolongs the word infinitesimally, “your health should come first.”

“Yeah, definitely.” Wonwoo coughs again to really dig his grave. “I would have loved to have gone. Maybe next time?”

Soonyoung grins at the response. “You got it, man. You just focus on getting better. We’re gonna miss you, Wonwoo!”

“Me, too,” Wonwoo tries to sound sincere but fails when the warmth of his blanket offers him a kind of euphoria that no amount of inebriation or intoxication can offer.

Junhui rolls his eyes at the exchange. “We’ll save a seat for you if you change your mind. Good night, Jeon,” he calls out as he exits. Soonyoung follows suit, offering a dramatic bow as the door slowly slips shut.

In the absence of his roommates, Wonwoo feels strangely uncomfortable. He wanted to stay in for the evening, yet he felt guilty for lying through his teeth. Already, he was the odd one out of the group for missing out on their first chance to get to know one another.

His phone was in the transition between two songs when he stops his playlist. He could hear the faint chatter of pedestrians passing through somewhere in the street, a few clinks and clacks of glasses piercing through the night sky, and the ever-present honking of vehicles speeding through traffic.

Wonwoo turns to look out of his window and sees the colorful lights of the city in full bloom. Saturday night in the city. He’d seen it a million times in movies and read all about it in books but witnessing the phenomenon with his own eyes was a surreal experience.

His vantage point from the third floor of his dormitory was certainly no tourist destination, but it was enough. Wonwoo could see several of the lights in the office building across the street, some turned off, others revealing white-collar professionals typing away at their laptops and probably dying to head out for the evening. The reflection of welcome marquees colored the dull black and gray of the evening with their green and red fluorescent glow.

What made it difficult for him to interact with other people? His group had been the kindest set of people he had met so far, Soonyoung going as far as pouting for him to come with them.

While Wonwoo would have surely felt uncomfortable for the first few minutes, he was certain he could easily melt into the mood with how bright Seokmin seemed to shine when eyes were on him. Or maybe laugh his mouth dry with Soonyoung’s endless catalog of party tricks. Or maybe even resolve the tension he had with Mingyu over a couple of drinks.

The desire to stay in for the evening was slowly waning when he thought back to how much his roommates wanted him to tag along and the things he would have missed as he slept through the event.

Junhui had promised to save him a seat, but it seemed like the boy was already disappointed at him for lying his way out of things. Going now would seem more like he went out of pity instead of actual desire to participate.

In a swift motion, Wonwoo slowly claps his book shut and sets it off to his side. He no longer felt like uncovering Dante’s plans for Aristotle on one of their many summer days together.

Wonwoo just wants to shut off his brain for a bit in the hopes that it will be normal once when he turns it back on.

Sometime in the dead of night, his roommates returned and retired for the evening, though Wonwoo was too deep in his regular scheduled dream program of a mountain of munchkin kittens running to his direction to drown him in warm hugs and soft paws. His version of heaven, essentially.

If Junhui clumsily knocking over seven different things in the dark at 3 AM wasn’t enough to wake him up, it’s Soonyoung dry heaving into a bucket at 8 AM that gets him on his feet.

Wonwoo is slowly rubbing Soonyoung’s back as he hurls what might be all the contents of Doraemon’s pocket into the poor bucket. He puts one of Soonyoung’s hairbands around his forehead to prevent his bangs from receiving any debris and slowly wipes his roommate’s forehead to dry the constant sweat that was forming.

This was one of the many times Wonwoo had cursed his strong sense of smell because the aroma that filled the room was beyond rancid. Opening the windows was beyond the question because it was an internal battle between the fuming pollution of the city air and the amalgamation of Soonyoung’s Saturday night out, and Wonwoo had to remind himself over and over that lung cancer was definitely more difficult to treat.

Wonwoo wishes Junhui was there with him, his strawberry aroma possibly strong enough to combat the vile opponent. However, Junhui was nowhere to be seen that morning and left a note for Wonwoo stating that he was also on recovery duty and was nursing Minghao’s hangover up at the fifth floor.

After a few more horrific vomiting episodes and a hefty bowl of hangover soup that Junhui had made, Soonyoung seemed subdued at best, finally back to sleeping peacefully with his mouth agape.

Wonwoo was in one of his many lulls in the afternoon. It was the period he usually spent staring off into space when he had nothing on his plate. His body had somehow accustomed him to always be on the move, another task on his checklist to accomplish.

Back in high school, items on his to-do list were constantly being checked off only to have more items added just as quick. Wonwoo considered himself to be a healthy workaholic though his work habits were nothing but toxic. He would stay up late at night, days ahead of deadlines to put the finishing touches to his work or to study in advance for exams.

He felt like he had this reputation to uphold and he didn’t want to slip up in the slightest. Teachers expected a certain degree of perfection from him and he had to consistently deliver. It didn’t matter if his classmates were constantly flunking their exams, but it was suddenly an uproar if Jeon Wonwoo were to get a mere five mistakes on a hundred-item test. He couldn’t handle the embarrassment he would receive when the teacher would call him out for the slightest drip in his grades.

As a result, Wonwoo had to be strict with his methods. Groupworks were never to be submitted without his permission, though he would work through the bulk of the work on his own since he didn’t quite trust his group members to meet the standard he was hoping to maintain. He’d rather spend his time writing their parts to his liking as opposed to wasting hours trying to edit numerous grammatical errors or sources gathered from absurd sources.

Assignments were to be done as soon as they were given to make way for the studying he had to do in the evening. Chores had to be cleared at the soonest notice to ensure time for guitar practice and to avoid getting an earful from his mom. His high school life had been spent on a tight leash of self-imposed rules that he abided by.

Thinking about it now, Wonwoo could have probably allowed himself to be more lenient here-and-there, let his grades drop a little to have more time to spend with his mother or develop more hobbies. Maybe even try to make a friend or two that he could call his own. Perhaps then he wouldn’t have to feel somewhat empty when the semester wasn’t in full swing.

Though he can’t help but wonder if doing so would have cost him his spot in Sungkyunkwan. Wonwoo hates to think of it, but the idea that he might just be the last one admitted for his program, the absolute bottom of the acceptance barrel, was circling in his head. He was going to be put in a room with possibly the brightest young minds in the country and he had to brace himself to be another bland dot in a sea of neon lights.

Perhaps it was time for him to make changes in himself.

Wonwoo was about to check up on Soonyoung again when his phone buzzes to a text.

**Wen Junhui:**

how’s Soonyoung?

still vomiting his stupid vodka-rum combo?

Wonwoo turned to check up on his roommate. Soonyoung had been fairly quiet for the past few minutes and the sweating had stopped several hours back. Though he still stirs every now and then to mumble _naega hosh_ as he stirs and Wonwoo didn’t have the energy to ask what that meant. Other than that, Soonyoung seemed to be finally sleeping fine.

**Jeon Wonwoo:**

He stopped vomiting and fell asleep again which is good. Thanks for the hangover soup, by the way. It probably helped soak up all that extra alcohol in his system. You should leave the recipe here somewhere.

**Wen Junhui:**

it’s jotted down on one of the recipe cards by the stove top

next time, look with your eyes, jeon ⊂•⊃_⊂•⊃

**Jeon Wonwoo:**

Ok.

**Wen Junhui:**

anywho, minghao finally dozed off just now and i was thinking of heading out

get dressed, jeon, you’re coming with me

**Jeon Wonwoo:**

Where are we going?

**Wen Junhui:**

that would ruin the fun!

that was an order, btw.

see you in 5, captain junhui out (づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ

Wonwoo wasn’t too sure what had transpired yet he still found himself putting on a pair of worn-out jeans and a thin t-shirt. While he was unsure of his roommate’s intentions, he welcomed a change of atmosphere after spending most of his day on caretaking duty. A few moments later, Junhui barged in and beckoned for them to leave. They left a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol next to Soonyoung just in case he needed it, and they were off into the sweltering afternoon heat.

Admittedly, the subway station didn’t seem as intimidating as it first seemed, but that was probably because Wonwoo had Junhui to pick out their tickets and navigate their way to the train.

Walking down into the subway was like entering the wardrobe into Narnia. If the streets above were filled with vehicles and stoplights and smokers, the world underground was a utopia of miniature stores, gray walls, and endless twists and turns. He had learned by now not to stay still for too long to admire the sight, but something about the concrete jungle scenery that he could only see on the big screen made it difficult not to stop and take in the view.

There was row upon row of different souvenir items lined up by the holes-in-the-wall and numerous small businesses that he wanted to venture into if he had the time. Wonwoo makes a mental note to pick out small trinkets for his mom since she was always obsessed with going into the city.

Wonwoo wanted to stay a bit longer to explore and appreciate the moment, but body after body were beginning to pile in and push past his transfixed person to get to their train on time. He guesses things weren’t so different from the ground above.

After a couple of minutes on the platform, a train zoomed past them only to slow down exactly in front of the gates. The metal giant looked pristine in its state and Wonwoo can only imagine how they managed to fit hundreds of these under the streets of Seoul. Junhui mentions something about minding the gap as they enter and Wonwoo immediately runs to one of the open spots with a window.

The train roars to life and almost knocks Wonwoo over had Junhui not held him in place. After a couple of moments spent underground, they slowly ascend out into the open. The afternoon sun outlines the scenic city skyline with a bright yellow halo, making it look almost immaculate. He snaps a quick picture that he immediately sends to his mom before looking out again.

Wonwoo tries to name as many sites that he can see while the train passes by until Junhui starts naming more buildings and tourist spots for him.

Once the train descends back underground, the pair take their seats to avoid getting whiplash every time the train briefly stops at each station. Junhui fills him on the events of the night before and it turns out things had gotten _wild_.

The place Seokmin had suggested turned out to be a local crawl with a dancefloor in the center for more active partygoers. Mingyu had offered to buy them drinks for the table and Soonyoung was quick to mix one drink with another, feeding them to everyone until they were all too drunk to refuse. Minghao began to dance in the middle of the dancefloor, commanding the attention of the crowd gathered with his b-boy skills, while Soonyoung was screaming something about hurricanes.

Even Jihoon, who Wonwoo thought was the tame one of the bunch, was feeding a continuous amount of coins into the jukebox to play a combination of trot songs and top 40 hits.

“How about you?” Wonwoo asked after realizing Junhui’s surprising sobriety. “How did you come out unscathed?”

“I was looking out for everyone. Someone had to make sure everyone made it back home safely.” Junhui scoffs as if it were an obvious fact. “And I promised to save you a seat, didn’t I?”

Wonwoo tries not to feel guilty for passing up on last night’s festivities but the feeling quickly passes, and he finds himself strangely focused on the fact that Junhui stayed sober just in case he decided to tag along.

The train comes to a halt at one station and Junhui gets up with Wonwoo trailing behind him. Once they ascend back into the city streets, they walk for a few minutes until Wonwoo hears the distinct sound of flowing water. For a moment, he surmises that there’s a waterfall running through the middle of the city like the ones he saw back in the countryside but what he sees next astounds him in a different way.

Between two parallel streets lies a large canal of sorts that seems to run endlessly from end to end. The walls leading down are made of sleek gray concrete pieces and some pieces are styled to jut inwards, forming small barriers every few meters. A reservoir of water leveled with the streets deposits its contents into the canal like a waterfall would.

Wonwoo paces ahead of Junhui, excited to see the manmade body of water for himself. It's the first thing in the city that reminded him of the village. He treks down the stairs to get a closer look at the canal. From where he stands, he notices the water sparkling with the late afternoon sunlight, seemingly clear like the rivers back at home.

Before he got too excited, Wonwoo stops himself from almost dipping his hand into the water, worried that it might actually be glorified sewer water running down the makeshift river.

“Don’t worry, it’s clean. They say it’s even potable, but I wouldn’t push my luck that far,” Junhui mentions from behind him. He lowers his hands, letting the flow course their way in between his fingers. Junhui looks at Wonwoo expectantly, probably signaling him to do the same.

Wonwoo begins to crouch down by the edge of the water and slowly dips his fingers to test the temperature. Despite the surrounding summer haze, the water is cool to the touch and he feels tempted to jump in entirely. He runs his fingertips through the transparent coating and sinks his palm to grasp at the current.

This reminds of the times his mom would take him to the river to bathe him when he was still a kid. They would take the lengthy trail through the forest to a portion of the river where the current was calmer and more tepid. He would spend the morning wading by the shore before his mom would sit him down to wash him properly. Eventually, Wonwoo would get antsy and splash his mom with water and she would gleefully retaliate, turning things into an all-out battle royale in the shallows.

His mom would always bring their laundry with her to give Wonwoo more time to play in the river and collect smooth stones from the waterbed. By noon, they would share a packed lunch together by the shade of some trees and head back home slightly more drenched than when they arrived. Wonwoo always made sure to give his mom the prettiest stone he found with a handwritten note thanking her for bringing him along.

As he got older, their tradition soon vanished when his mother could no longer handle walking through the beaten path.

She always looked more peaceful there, as if she had fond memories there. He’d always wonder if his dad took her there when they were younger, plodding through the waves with their hands held together like a couple in love. He would never really know.

“The place is prettier than I thought,” Junhui remarks. He begins to weave his hands in the water, attempting to counterflow the steady stream of water. “I passed by here a few days ago when I was exploring the city. Every tourist spot was nothing out of the ordinary, but this place caught my attention.”

Wonwoo was eyeing the way Junhui’s reflection was being mirrored on the surface of the water and could see the glow of his brown eyes and the characters on his graphic tee seemingly coming to life.

“It’s like an oasis in the middle of the desert.” A faint smile forms on Junhui’s face as he paints with his fingers across the surface of the water.

Junhui had a point. In the midst of city life, it must have been impossible to find a breath of fresh air anywhere. Yet things seem lighter where they stand, as if there was a completely different environment along the stream. Things were tranquil and impossibly still even when crowds can be heard walking past and the sirens of a police car in the distance was blaring.

Yet people around them didn’t seem to take notice of it. Everyone passing by had their eyes glued to their cellphones or pushing past one another to get to some appointment. Everything in the city had to be fast and, if someone couldn’t catch up, they’d be trampled.

It was like they were missing out on a precious gem in the search for gold coins.

“I-It’s nice,” Wonwoo replies, though he wishes he could have said something more appropriate to match the allure of the manmade river. “It reminds me of the places back in the village.”

Junhui says something in reply, but Wonwoo gets lost in the feeling of serenity he experiences being close to nature.

Well, somewhat close to nature. He would accept any dose of it that the city has to offer him, even if it all it has to offer is a few Instagram-worthy trees and the song of cicadas.

They stay there for a bit, both of their hands still drenched in the water, until the heat becomes a little unbearable.

“Hey, Jeon,” Junhui splashes Wonwoo with some water to get his attention. “Want to walk downstream?”

Wonwoo would exact revenge but the cool water feels refreshing on his drying skin. The things he would do to swim in the river again. “Sure.”

Junhui does his regular thing of hooking an arm around Wonwoo’s neck and they begin to walk away from the scaled-down waterfall and farther along the concrete path.

The scenery quickly shifts from the steel bars and crowds of bodies to more rugged stone streets and more greenery blooming in-between the cracks. It reminds Wonwoo of all the canals he would see in the different anime he would watch, the ones where cherry blossoms are blowing through the wind. It is peculiarly provincial.

“What did you do back in the village?” Junhui asks as they move closer to the water to make way for an older woman to pass through. “I mean, aside from your usual guitar playing and chemistry tournament winning?”

Wonwoo stops walking for a bit, shocked that Junhui knew about his academic history, before being nudged forward.

“Mingyu told us all about it yesterday. I didn’t know you were some hotshot national champion.”

“It only happened once so, it’s not anything special,” Wonwoo shrugs.

“Well, I don't know if this counts for anything, Mingyu didn’t seem all too happy that you trumped him that year.” Junhui turns to look at him, his warm breath on Wonwoo’s skin making him squirm. “Is that why you were avoiding him?”

Wonwoo avoids his stare, looking at the way their feet are pacing similarly. _Left and right, left and right, left and right_. Wonwoo’s beat-up Converse shoes and Junhui’s equally decrepit Vans sneakers.

It was difficult to explain. Kids back in the village would always berate him for always taking away opportunities from them, always being the one to participate in this and that contest or being sent off to another town to represent the school in a quiz bee. He’s had his fair share of silencing their taunts and harsh words to last him until his third or fourth lifetime.

While it was usually the school administration that chose the participants, he didn’t ever reject the opportunity. Wonwoo wanted to experience various things, even though the things he did experience were fairly repetitive. From academic decathlon to academic decathlon, and contest to contest.

The issue he had with Mingyu felt just like that. If Wonwoo didn’t win, he would lose absolutely nothing except the money the school spent to send him to the city. But for Mingyu, he had everything at stake – his reputation, the expectations set for him, and opportunities he might have missed because of his defeat.

Wonwoo had thought about it; how Mingyu probably wanted to say something about the entire ordeal, but probably held his tongue seeing how it was pointless to do so. Nothing could change what had occurred and they were left to make sense of the bits and pieces that remained.

Instead of trying to make sense of his thoughts, he gives Junhui a short, “It’s complicated,” with a tight-lipped smile to top it off. “And I was a farmer. Both my mom and I. That’s what I used to do in the village.” Changing the topic always worked its wonders.

Junhui seemed to notice the shift in topics but made no effort to call him out for it. “What was that like?”

“It’s farming, there’s nothing too spectacular about it,” Wonwoo shrugs. “We tow, we plant, we harvest. Some days I would move cows in and out of the pen or feed the chicken, but other than that, that was it.”

“Did you ever name them?”

“Who now?”

“Your cows and chicken. Did you ever give them names?” Junhui gives him an encouraging smile.

Wonwoo feels his cheeks heating up at the sight of Junhui’s gummy smile that could single handedly end wars. Perhaps their shoes needed some more looking at. “I wanted to, but I didn’t want to get attached to them, you know? We always sold them as soon as we could.”

“I get it. Though, I’d still give them names just to spice things up. Something edgy like Striker or Damon.”

“Those sound more like pig names, if you ask me,” Wonwoo jests. “Because we all know they’re so fast and furious.”

Junhui makes a face before saying, “No, not pigs! I’ve had nightmares about them ever since I saw Chihiro’s parents transform into those really bloodthirsty ones.”

“Chihiro?”

“From Spirited Away,” Junhui fills in.

“Spirited Away?”

“You know, the Ghibli film where this girl goes to this abandoned amusement park and her parents chow down on some spirit food and become pigs then she has to work in this traditional bath house-“

Wonwoo’s face must be oozing confusion because Junhui’s expression rapidly turns from amusement to concern.

Junhui turns to look Wonwoo straight into his eyes and, by extension, his very soul. “You mean to tell me you’ve never seen Spirited Away?” Wonwoo shakes his head. “How about the other Ghibli films?”

Wonwoo shakes his head again. “Am I supposed to?” He didn’t know the nation had put a mandate on the films that all teenagers just _had_ to watch to be considered fully functional.

“Yes! Hayao Miyazaki’s masterpieces were a cultural reset.” Junhui flails his arms around to emphasize his point. “You _have_ to watch them at least once in your lifetime, Jeon.”

“Maybe when I have the time for it.”

“Then we’ll make time for it,” Junhui nudges him.

Wonwoo sighs and reaches for a tiny piece of technology attached to his keychain. “Do you have a copy that you can put in my flash drive?”

“This isn’t 2010, we can just watch it on Netflix,” Junhui teases.

“Netflix?”

“You’re driving me insane, Jeon.”

After walking what feels like a million football fields, they both seat themselves under a small bridge with floodgates installed below them. The path is elevated a lot higher, a few meters away from the water, and they both dangle their feet from the edge.

From here, Wonwoo can see that he has longer legs compared to Junhui. But what Junhui lacks in lower body length, he makes up in torso height. Something about his observation makes him feel short even though they are as tall as one another.

Junhui was going off about the different Ghibli movies that _Wonwoo just had to watch before he died or dusted off into a different plane of being or something_ when he pulls out the one thing Wonwoo never would have thought in his entire twenty years of existence could come out of anyone’s jean pocket.

A tangerine.

“Um,” Wonwoo found himself staring astonished as Junhui expertly removes the peels which he places on his lap.

Junhui was about to put a piece in his mouth when he catches Wonwoo looking at him. “Oh, sorry, did you want this one?”

Wonwoo gently declines the tiny citrus delight as Junhui takes it in with one bite. “Why do you have that in your pocket?”

“It’s not usually tangerines. It’s mostly something gelatin-based or Coke-flavored,” Junhui shrugs as if it were the most natural thing. “I guess I wanted something healthier today.”

“Right.”

Junhui consumes another piece of tangerine. “Helps calm down my nerves and stuff.”

“Is there anything bothering you?” Wonwoo wants to sound casual, but he’s Jeon Wonwoo and that’s not in his vocabulary, so the words come off slightly intrusive.

“Nothing really, I suppose. I just get nervous about things sometimes.” Junhui chews slowly, his thinking cap on deep.

A silence fills the air, save for the sound of running water. Wonwoo doesn’t fail to notice the way Junhui’s fingers can’t seem to still themselves, continuously curling and uncurling themselves against the fruit.

Wonwoo feels this strange tingle at the bottom of his stomach, some gravitational pull urging him to hold Junhui’s hand to stop the action. He’s about to reach out when he holds himself.

He’d only known him for a good two days to the hour and he was unsure if that was something Junhui would have appreciated, Junhui’s excessive touchiness be damned.

“The kids I used to live with would beat my ass about all the incessant foot tapping or lip smacking, so they always gave me something small to munch on. Always seemed to stop the involuntary habits I had.” Junhui mentions.

Wonwoo’s curiosity overtakes his inhibitions again when he asks, “Is this back in the orphanage?”

Junhui hums. “I’m surprised you remembered; I only usually mention that in passing.”

“I guess I just have a good memory.” Which is a terrible lie because Wonwoo would probably forget his own name if people didn’t call him by it every day. He had thought about it a lot ever since Junhui mentioned it, but he wanted to wait for the right time to ask. “Were you with many other people?”

“You could say that. I was in one of those orphanages run by these nuns, very aged but overwhelmingly kindhearted,” Junhui grins at his words. “My first memories are all of them, bathing me or feeding me. I don’t remember what my own parents looked like.”

Wonwoo looks over to see Junhui growing slightly more fidgety, his grip on the ground making his knuckles go white. For once, he could see a twinkle of something like anger spark in Junhui’s eyes. He wanted to ask more about it but offers a slow nod in reply. It was not his place to pry.

The rage that built up bleeds out just as quick, Junhui’s usual tired eyes and lifeless lips back in their place. “It’s cool, though. I met some of the best people there, so it wasn’t a nightmare.”

Wonwoo gulps before choking out his next question. “What was life there like?”

“It was hectic. You don’t have a lot of privacy and someone is always screaming at the dead of night, which is probably why I become a very heavy sleeper. But life was simpler with them,” Junhui’s face turns stoic as he faces the leaves flowing with the current. “It was like living with your friends, every day was a sleepover or pillow fortress exhibition.”

Wonwoo nods and imagines what his life would have been life if he had a sibling. For as long as he could remember, it was always just his mom and him at home talking about their day or doing their chores together. While it never felt lonely, he could tell that he was missing out on something.

What it could have been like to have a sibling he could tease for having an ugly haircut or bribing with candy to assure their silence whenever he would sneak out late at night to watch movies with friends.

What it could have felt like to cut classes or use fake IDs to score cheap liquor or just stare up at the stars, questioning his existence with people he could call his own.

It was just sad to think that he passed through his teenage years without having any of those.

“You do that a lot, you know.”

Wonwoo turns to look where Junhui is finishing off his tangerine. “What?”

“You know, where you stare off into space and go quiet for a really long time.”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

Junhui shakes his head and smirks. “Don’t apologize. It’s cute.”

Wonwoo blushes a furious red in his face and feels like curling up into a ball and rolling down the river.

Junhui seems to notice the effect of his words because he begins to snicker and nudges Wonwoo’s shoulder. “I’m just messing with you. The look on your face when you’re flustered is priceless.”

“Fuck off.” Wonwoo tries to put a front to mask the sudden feeling of disappointment brewing. Why did he like it when Junhui called him ‘cute’? This was a scientific inquiry for another day.

“Language, Jeon.” Junhui wags his finger before bringing up a tangerine peel up to eye level. “You know these things can be humidifiers. Good for your voice and all that.”

“I heard they were good mosquito repellants, too.”

“Yeah, and you can infuse a bunch of stuff with its juices to make it taste brighter-“

While Wonwoo tries to concentrate on Junhui explaining the merits of the tangerine peel, he can’t help but notice how even Junhui’s hands look beautiful. Long and slender with well-kept fingernails. Junhui said he played the piano and Wonwoo could imagine him flying through the keys with ease. If he stares at them long enough, they almost look exactly like-

Junhui’s cellphone rings with a text. “Soonyoung’s asking where we are, says he couldn’t open the bottle of Tylenol.”

“I should have expected as much. He was as drunk as the word could possibly be.” Wonwoo gets up and dusts off his jeans. “Let’s head back?”

“Yeah,” Junhui prolongs with a stretch, extending his hands for Wonwoo to take. “Help me up?”

Wonwoo scoffs. “What are you, five years old?” He’s not so sure what happened to his filter, how his thoughts seem to roll off his tongue without much thought.

“Yes. Do you want me to cry to prove it?” Junhui begins to pout and tears form insanely fast at the corners of his eyes. _How could he do that_? He was about to start bawling when Wonwoo gives in.

“You’re a moron, you know that?” Wonwoo sighs as he pulls up a surprisingly heavy Junhui off the ground.

“Loud and proud, Jeon. Loud and proud.” Junhui hooks his arm around Wonwoo’s neck and they begin to trek their way back to the station.

Wonwoo doesn’t fail to see how Junhui stuffs all the tangerine peels back into his pocket. Maybe he was going to see them all around their dorm room later.

Movies always had a funny way of deluding reality into fantasy. It happened way too often, lifting expectations to some astronomical degree which made the inevitable fall all the more painful.

In movies, first year students always had this glorious one-week ceremony filled with on-campus celebrations in the morning and off-campus parties in the evening. They would be pampered by their peers and huddled into groups for icebreakers while getting to learn more about their campus in a dramatic fashion. It was basically getting to see their tuition money at work.

However, movies are merely mirrors of reality and everyone should know by now that not all mirrors reflect the truth.

Which is why, when Wonwoo walks into campus on Monday morning, he isn’t surprised to see everything the same as it was when he first roamed around. Though some colleges were kind enough to flash a welcoming banner by their entrance. Points were definitely rewarded for effort.

Junhui had hooked his arm around Wonwoo, complaining about his lack of sleep while Wonwoo tried to remember the route to their college. He didn’t really mind the contact at this point, welcoming the subtle heat to counteract the morning breeze.

The college orientation proved to be lukewarm at best. While a majority of the speakers and professors tried to hype up their program with their _interesting_ course offerings and _diverse_ career opportunities (Wonwoo uses these terms with a thousand grains of salt), he felt like he was a mountain and they were trying their best to push him.

Which is to say that he wasn’t at all moved by their words and false promises. He wasn’t planning on becoming a pharmacist anyways.

It wasn’t until class elite Choi Seungcheol took the microphone that Wonwoo felt tremors reverberating in his system. Seungcheol talked about the trials he faced as a pharmacy student on a scholarship, how many times he felt he was close to losing his scholarship all together and being sent back home empty-handed, and what it meant to fight for his spot and for the career that he dreamed of pursuing.

Seungcheol used words such as _draining_ , _mentally and emotionally taxing_ , and _fulfilling_ and Wonwoo couldn’t help but feel guilty.

He was in this program to use it as a stepping stone for something else, taking up the spot of another Seungcheol who was more passionate about pharmacy than he was. Or another Junhui who had a future in the field after graduation. The thought just didn’t sit right with him.

Wonwoo swallows the remorse down like a dry pill and thinks about his mom. His mom that had been working her entire life to provide for him and to keep him well fed. His mom that was already at her fifties but is probably still working at that very moment to assure him that he was going to stay in the city to finish his education. If he wasn’t going to do it for himself, he was going to do it for her.

Navigating through the School of Pharmacy didn’t seem to be difficult on paper. There were signs and markers everywhere telling them where everything was and the geography was easy to grasp – the first and fourth floor were for classrooms, the second floor housed the faculty rooms and the auditorium, and the third floor had all the laboratories.

However, that didn’t stop Wonwoo from accidentally walking into the wrong room twice to make it to his first class. The first time was a harmless mistake, all the doors being way too similar and was an error waiting to happen. The second time being on account of Junhui knowingly nudging him into the wrong room, looking very pleased with himself.

Needless to say, Wonwoo only realized his mistake when he unknowingly sat down beside Jeonghan who asked him if he was a third-year student, with Junhui uncontrollably howling from the hallway.

If Wonwoo punched Junhui on the shoulder for what he did, it was his secret to keep and a mystery for the disciplinary council to figure out.

Luckily, the third time’s a charm and they enter a room filled with the other students he was seated with at the orientation. Immediately, Wonwoo makes a beeline for the anime seat, also known as the seat at the corner of the room at the very back, also known as the _best_ seat.

“I didn’t take you to be a backseat kind of person, Jeon.” Junhui pulls up the chair right next to Wonwoo. Two girls were already seated beside them, sharing a single pair of earphones and giggling at a video playing on their phone, and they looked very familiar.

Wonwoo shrugs while placing his bag down. This seat was perfect; he had calculated his odds and went through numerous scenarios, each and every time landing at this seat. It was far enough from the front so that the professor could never see him while still being able to see what was on the board. If a recitation roulette were to start, he could give the first and most obvious answer or give the last and most unique one. And, if he feels too drained to listen, he could always fall asleep or read a book undetected.

“What course is this anyways?” Junhui mutters.

“Introduction to Pharmacy Practice, I think,” Wonwoo says. His schedule was fairly simple and repetitive and was easy to pin down after a quick analysis. It gave him enough time for his part-time job and for studying in-between.

“Sounds boring.” Junhui begins to load up a manga on his phone, some spiky haired volleyball player popping up on screen. All around them, laptops were being readied and it made Wonwoo feel bad about his fresh notebook and pen.

His second-hand prehistoric monster of a laptop was basically a home computer since it had to be connected to a power source at all times just to function. And while it may take approximately three times longer just to open an Internet browser, it gets the job done. Plus, it was the only laptop his mom could afford.

In his peripheral vision, he can see Mingyu taking a seat all the way at the front of the classroom, right in front of the lecture room podium. This class was one of the few classes his program shared with the Pharmaceutical Sciences students so he could see Minghao and Seokmin talking rather noisily right next to Mingyu.

Wonwoo wasn’t a judgmental person, by any means. He was probably at the other end of that spectrum. But when someone willingly takes the seat right in front of the professor… now that speaks for itself.

After a few moments of staring into space, the professor walks into the room. The first thing that registers into Wonwoo’s mind is that-

“He looks way too young to be a professor.” Junhui whispers beside him, stealing the thought from his head.

Mr. Park, or Yoochun as he introduces himself (he’s apparently one of those people who prefer to be called by their first name, he’s _that_ young), has a sharp curve to his face and several wrinkles on his forehead. But, other than that, he has a white button-down folded up three-fourth of the way and he looks like he could pass of as a senior if he wore a little bit of concealer.

And Yoochun’s not bad looking. He had the kind of face that indicated he was probably strikingly handsome in his youth. Even the girls beside them seem to agree, if the blush racing across their faces were to signal anything.

Wonwoo is shaken from his reverie when the presentation pops up and Mr. Park begins his lecture at an alarming rate. He skips from slide to slide within seconds and Wonwoo is struggling to keep up, his handwriting a certified mess trying to jot down the history of pharmacy all over the world.

In a few minutes, his hand was beginning to ache at the pace he had to maintain. The room was fairly quiet with the exemption of the sea of keyboards being smashed and Wonwoo could only wish that he had a laptop that functioned properly instead of his Lenovo Shitbox that broke down if he opened too many applications at the same time.

Junhui beside him was multitasking between typing a storm on some note app while reading his manga on the other half of his screen. Wonwoo wasn’t sure whether to be amazed or envious at the ability.

The girls beside them were in a tag team, the midnight blue-haired one smashing the keys on her laptop while the orange-haired one was dictating what was being flashed on screen.

And here he was, writing what could pass off as hieroglyphs with how messy his handwriting was. His notebook was pierced fresh with holes from the speed he used.

Wonwoo took a deep breath and tightened his grip on his pen. He felt like that Miley Cyrus song finally made sense.

_Always gonna be an uphill battle._

Jeon Wonwoo is a man of many talents.

He memorized the periodic table over a decade ago. He could transpose the key of a song on his guitar without an issue. Heck, he could probably ride an angry bull all over an arena if he wanted to (though his only practice was on a mellow and lazy cow, but these animals were closely related, okay?).

To make things even better, he was a quick learner. Contribute it to his mental fortitude or his desire to prove people wrong, but he enjoyed being subtly adept at different things. The look of surprise on other people’s faces whenever he picked up on a new skill in a matter of minutes was worth the initial frustration and dread he felt.

So, that was Jeon Wonwoo. A man of many talents.

Which sadly did not include dancing.

And to be blunt, any physical activity.

He had set his school’s record for the longest time to accomplish the 400-meter sprint since he couldn’t even bring his feet to go for a mild run, let alone a complete dash. _Cursed iron levels!_

And like all other coming of age story protagonists, he was the socially inept six-foot wallflower who could not for the life of him at least detract the trajectory of any flying object.

Though Wonwoo was most probably the protagonist’s awkwardly silent acquaintance at best.

Basketball, volleyball, football, badminton, and even the damn hacky sack. You name it, Wonwoo probably couldn’t do it. He had gotten accustomed to being the last pick for every team sport, so his situation now wasn’t all that surprising.

Inside the blazing hot yet spacious gymnasium of the College of Sports Science, he was once again standing stiffly on one side of the court while his other social dance classmates were beginning to pair up. He was shifting on his feet, hoping that he could muster up the courage to ask one of his classmates to be his partner.

Somewhere else in the building, Junhui was enjoying the comfort of an air-conditioned room where the most physical activity he had to endure was a flick of the wrist and a palm to a chess timer. It turns out even Mingyu had landed himself into chess, leaving Wonwoo completely alone to fend for himself.

All around him, people were inviting themselves into humble pairs, something Wonwoo should be fully capable of but is mortified of doing. The thought that his classmates could already sense his three left feet (because two left feet were for bad dancers and he needed one more left leg to describe just how horrendous his dancing abilities were) was enough to paralyze him on his spot.

Wonwoo was about to accept the fact that he was probably going to be paired up with the instructor when a strong hand clamps him on his shoulder.

“Oppa, you’re going to be my partner.”

Before Wonwoo can even turn to see the source of the voice, the hand turns him around to face them.

It was the girl who sat beside Junhui during his Introduction to Pharmacy Practice class. “Now, don’t tell me you have some other person in mind because you have been standing there for three minutes now and I can tell you were going to let yourself be paired with the instructor.” The girl gave him an expectant look.

When Wonwoo couldn’t push out a response, the harsh look on the girl’s face melted into a full, closed-eye smile.

“Don’t worry, oppa. I don’t bite,” the girl says before proceeding to bite in a comical fashion. She then reaches a hand out for what appears to be a handshake. “I’m Dahyun.”

“I’m Won-“ Before he can even finish his words, Dahyun pulls his hand in for a thumb war. And since he is Jeon Wonwoo, he loses in the first ten seconds.

“You’re pretty weak, oppa. Maybe you should be the one to call me ‘noona,’” she jokes while exaggeratedly flexing her biceps. Wonwoo had to admit that, behind Dahyun’s midnight blue hair tied up in a loose bun and single track pantleg rolled up to her calf, the woman was unbelievably strong.

Wonwoo nods at his defeat and shakes off his reddening thumb. “Please don’t call me ‘oppa’. It’s really weird.”

“Oh, thank you.” She sighs and physically shivers, as if to embody her internal cringe at the word. “I thought maybe you’d like to keep the honorifics.”

“I will gladly turn my head away if anyone calls you out on it.”

Dahyun returns a soft smile as the instructor huddles all the pairs in. Lucky for them, they weren’t going into any dance style just yet. They were to ‘mingle with their partner until their feet knew every movement’ or some other crap like that. So, in a matter of seconds, the partners were scattered on the floor for basic partner movements.

“Do you know how to dance, Wonwoo-ya?” Dahyun maneuvers Wonwoo’s arm to an area just above her scapula and places a soft palm on his bicep, their other hand stretched out and intertwined on the other side.

Wonwoo shakes his head and adds, “I royally suck at it, you’re probably better off dancing with an ostrich.”

“Come on, you can’t be that bad. You might just be pulling my leg or something.”

“I think you mean kicking your leg,” Wonwoo corrects. He’s surprised at how easy it is for his words to flow out when he talks to Dahyun.

Music begins to blast from a large speaker and the instructor tells them to follow the beat with basic left-and-right steps. For the most part, Wonwoo can at least keep up with this pace. The song is easy to match and he quickly picks up on a rhythm.

“See, you’re not half-bad. Just go with the beat and we’ll be fine,” Dahyun assures him, watching their feet move with the pulsing bass.

Wonwoo chuckles and gulps the fear down, hoping he doesn’t lose his tempo. A sudden thought runs through his head. “Dahyun, can I ask you something?”

“Fire away, Wonwoo-ya.”

“Why did you choose me as your partner?”

Dahyun’s head whips up at that, her bun connecting Wonwoo’s chin. After muttering several apologies, her face morphs into one of introspection. “For one thing, you have the perfect height for someone of my stature. I can lean on your chest and stuff for the intimate dances, like in those silly teen prom movies.”

“Point taken.”

“Plus, you’re very attractive,” Dahyun adds nonchalantly.

Wonwoo immediately freezes at Dahyun’s words, almost incapable of stepping from side to side.

Perhaps the one thing Wonwoo could never handle, even more than sports, is taking compliments. He would always feel himself writhe with discomfort whenever someone would offer him a mere pat on the back.

It’s not like he received a lot of praise to begin with, a majority of which came from his own mom but those honestly do not count because parents are socially obliged to shower their children with flattering words. It was just his own messed up train of thoughts leading him into every which way. One of which was the concept of compliments as a sort of foreign language he could never decipher.

And maybe he’s just looking too far into things again, but it felt infinitely worse coming from a girl. Wonwoo would much rather have some guy like Junhui running around the quad, screaming about his _fine ass_ than have a woman do it. Better yet, just Junhui, the remainder of humanity be damned.

Why? Wonwoo has no idea. He’s been meaning to take his mental reasoning to the repair shop for a tune up.

Dahyun nudges him to get his attention. “You still with me, Wonwoo-ya? We’re supposed to switch places.”

Wonwoo shakes his head to regain his focus. “R-right.” Just as he was about to step to the side to maneuver into the right position, Wonwoo’s third left leg decides to act up.

Dahyun mutters a curse under her breath and glares at him, eyes sending daggers but with a smile as soft as kittens. “Be careful.”

“Sorry,” Wonwoo apologizes with a nervous grin.

As the class progresses, his third left leg continues to gain control and, while Wonwoo can at least match his steps to the beat, it’s the location of his steps that land him in hot water. Dahyun keeps sending larger and sharper objects in his direction with her pointed look alone. At one point, she probably fired a javelin in his direction after he landed an entire foot on her toes.

After what feels like an eternity of dancing on eggshells and countless muttered apologies, the instructor mercifully calls it a day and dismisses the class.

“Sorry again,” Wonwoo repeats while massaging Dahyun’s sock-encased foot. It was his act of atonement for basically running a car over her toes.

They were seated by the wooden bleachers to cool down, their other classmates already starting to pour out of the gymnasium. Dahyun still has a scowl on her face before it slowly softens. “Like I said earlier, it’s fine. You did warn me so, this is what I get.”

Wonwoo nods and readies himself to lose his partner when Dahyun begins to giggle.

“Don’t be sad, Wonwoo-ya. I won’t ask for a different partner, okay? I’m sure we’ll be better next week,” encourages while ruffling his hair. “Come on, chin up now. It’s not a good look on you to be down in the dumps.”

There it was again, the familiar compliment freeze creeping its way up to his face. The kind that made him want to wear a bag over his head. Wonwoo manages a tense, “Okay,” before staring back at the panda printed on her socks.

Somewhere at the edge of Wonwoo’s vision, a familiar long-haired being approaches with a girl to his side.

“What do we have here, Jeon?” Junhui teases while crouching down beside him.

Before Wonwoo could reply, Dahyun calls over the girl walking beside Junhui. “Sana unnie! Look what Wonwoo-ya did to my precious toes.” Dahyun then points to where Wonwoo was rubbing her toes and offers a pout.

Sana’s mouth opens in horror and she rushes over to inspect the ‘injury.’ She turns to look at Wonwoo, “Why did you do this, oppa? Are you mad at Dahyun?”

“I-I didn’t mean to-“ he stutters before receiving a flurry of soft punches on his shoulder.

“Oppa, _you’re so mean_!” Sana cries out as Dahyun and Junhui fail to repress their laughter.

Dahyun holds back Sana with one hand, the other hand returning her foot back into her shoes. “I was just kidding, unnie. It was a harmless accident. I’m alright, see?” She does a twirl with one foot to show exactly how fine she was.

Sana almost immediately lights up with relief and gives Dahyun a full-on hug.

“Anyways, we’ll probably get a move on now,” Dahyun mentions while gathering her things. She reaches out for Sana’s hand and the latter is quick to lace their fingers together. “See you in our next class, Wonwoo-ya!”

Wonwoo gets on his feet and sends the pair a small wave as they walk out, but not before Sana makes the _I’m watching you_ gesture and Dahyun sends a flying kiss his way.

“What was that all about?” Junhui inquires, hooking his usual arm around Wonwoo’s neck. And it might just be Wonwoo’s imagination, but the hold feels slightly tighter this time around.

“I accidentally stepped on Dahyun’s foot a couple times while we were dancing,” Wonwoo replies.

“And you had to massage her foot for it?

Wonwoo shrugs as they begin to exit the college, the afternoon sky a mix of purple and orange hues combatting one another in a competition of aerial domination.

“So, theoretically, if you were to step on _my_ toes, you would have to massage them?”

Wonwoo turns to address Junhui. “I am not going to-“

Before he can complete his sentence, Junhui intentionally reaches out to place his foot where Wonwoo was about to step.

“What are you doing?”

“ _Wonwoo-ya, you stepped on my foot, so you have to give me a massage_.” Junhui does a surprisingly good Dahyun impression, adding his own pout to top it off.

And while Wonwoo should find the act beyond idiotic, the only thought that registers in his brain is how cute Junhui looks right now. But he’s not going to admit that. Instead, he roughly nudges Junhui’s arm off his shoulder. “You’re a dork.”

“The one and only, Jeon.” Junhui smirks. “But seriously. When do you want to give that massage?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 chapters in and I am struggling... I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! I swear, there is a plot in this story.
> 
> HAPPY COMEBACK TO THE BOYS, BY THE WAY!!! I was supposed to finish this yesterday but got lost in the Henggarae hype. I hope you guys caught the title track mention somewhere. 
> 
> Take care everyone. Make sure to support the boys in their new era!
> 
> UPDATE: Hello, lovely reader! I have decided to approach posting in a new fashion. Instead of forcing myself to push out a new chapter every week, I might try to do more chapters before posting them all in one go. This way, I can focus on providing (hopefully) improved content as supposed to rushing them to meet a deadline. However, this might mean that updates will take longer than normal to be posted. So, I do apologize in advance! I assure you that I will finish this fic especially for all of you have who have taken a chance on this first time writer. Lots of love!


	4. Cholecystokinin

“Kwan, I’m telling you; cucumbers are fruits.”

“And I am telling _you_ , Hansol-ah; cucumbers are vegetables.”

“They’re really not.”

“Guys-“ Wonwoo tries to chime in, but is cut off when Seungkwan lifts the almighty hand of silence at him.

“Yes, they are. They are green and disgusting and are like all the other vegetables.”

“Not all vegetables are green and disgusting, Seungkwan.” Hansol reminds, mistakenly placing several packages of lemons under the ‘Oranges’ box. “Maybe you’d know that if you actually ate any.”

“I do eat them! I always eat the green leaf thing in my salad during lunch,” Seungkwan calls out from the counter. He looks like a maniac with the way he waves the barcode reader around, as if he were seconds away from tossing it in Hansol’s face.

“You mean lettuce?” Hansol chides, getting a full eye roll from Seungkwan in response. “Okay, tell me this then. What do you call the small red bits that go with the lettuce?”

“Tomatoes, obviously. I’m not stupid, Hansol-ah.” Seungkwan places his hands on his hips, like a child about to throw a tantrum. “And those are also vegetables, by the way.”

“Those are also fruits, you moron.”

“They are not!” Seungkwan half-screams, attracting the glances of nearby patrons.

Hansol drops the labeling machine he was using before walking over to the counter. “Yes, they are.”

“No, they are not. Why would they be placed in my salad then?”

“Not everything inside a salad has to be a vegetable. Do you think the pieces of chicken in your salad become a vegetable just because it’s in there?” Hansol cuts in front of a customer ready to check out her items to nail his point across to Seungkwan. The poor woman looks puzzledly at the two boys, probably wondering why the employees have been yelling about produce for almost an hour.

Wonwoo sighs and walks over to open another counter to check out the woman’s items. He offers his most apologetic smile before going back to correcting the bleach bottles Hansol labeled as ‘water’.

When Mrs. Kang told him he was going to be assisting with the grocery’s inventory, he didn’t think too much of it. The grocery itself was a small establishment, somewhere in-between a convenience store and a minimart. There was no fresh meat or seafood counter that would most probably make him gag and the floorplan was fairly straightforward.

What he didn’t expect was to babysit two highly emotional and proud teenagers who were constantly at each other’s throats. They argued over every single move the other made and separating them proved to be more difficult to manage than having them work together. 

Seungkwan had a type A personality and constantly bossed Wonwoo from aisle to aisle to return misplaced items or to refill the shelves, essentially doing Seungkwan’s job for him. On the other hand, Hansol always had his head in the clouds, tapping his foot along to some song in his head and working at a pace some may describe as torturously sluggish. 

In the span of the first three hours of his shift, Wonwoo had to wipe down the dairy section when Seungkwan accidentally dropped a carton of milk because it was ‘ _too heavy for his fragile constitution_ ’, lecture Hansol on how he did not have to put a price tag on every single egg because they were being sold by the dozen, and hide the pudding snack packs the pair had consumed while restocking the candy aisle.

At the checkout lane, Seungkwan and Hansol continued to bicker about the elements of a modern-day salad as they were probably moments away from going viral on the Internet as the idiots who got into a fistfight because they both couldn't agree that the avocado was a fruit (surprise, surprise – it is).

And here Wonwoo was in the fresh goods section, switching the placement of the cucumbers placed in the vegetable aisle and the potatoes placed in the fruits section after Seungkwan was adamant on his stand on produce classification. Wonwoo couldn’t think of any better way to earn his minimum wage to pay for rent.

Scratch that, he definitely had several other ways in his head. One of which included working in a cat café, if he ever found one, his only responsibility being to constantly pet the adorable felines for hours on end. Another option being the bookstore Junhui was working in. The things Wonwoo would do to be able to work in the silence of the wooden space, his nose flaring at the familiar scent of aging classics and his brain feasting on the imagination of writers from a time before his own.

Somewhere in the bustle of the streets, people were prancing by, peeking through the windows for liquor or cigarettes with their entire Saturday night planned out ahead of them. All he could do was play the role of major buzzkill and shoo on-lookers, trying his best to prevent minors from acquiring any of the toxic vices. Quite the way to spend his first weekend as a fully-fledged college student.

His first week of classes went by mercifully quickly. Most of his professors opted to spend their first meeting discussing the syllabus and the course requirements to be turned in by the end of the semester. 

Wonwoo spent his days walking from one classroom to another, trying to remember the different courses he was enrolled in. Aside from the introductory pharmacy courses in his schedule, he was also taking a college chemistry course and a medicinal botany course, subjects he felt slightly more confident in. 

In the middle of accounting for the different items replaced on the shelves, Wonwoo receives a text from Junhui saying how his shift had just ended and that he was going to pass by to pick Wonwoo up. He tries not to think about how unfair it is that Junhui not only had Wonwoo’s dream job, but also has flexible hours to fit his schedule. Wonwoo is not the least bit jealous, okay?

Wonwoo quickly finishes his bookkeeping for the day, removing his apron and passing by Mrs. Kang’s office to inform her of his departure. Seungkwan and Hansol’s quarreling had stopped a few minutes back, the pair most probably also preparing to end their shift.

The chimes by the door resound with the entrance of another patron, this time around being his chronically fatigued roommate and, much to Wonwoo’s surprise, a highly disinterested Jihoon.

“Jeon,” Junhui hollers over, waving his hands to get Wonwoo’s attention. “You will never guess who’s also working at the bookstore.”

“I’m guessing that would be you,” Wonwoo answers facing Jihoon who merely shrugs in acknowledgement. Jihoon was yet again blasting inappropriately loud music from his Airpods, both of his hands tucked fully into his pockets like he felt too awkward inside his own skin.

“Yeah! Who would have known, huh?” Junhui dazzles with his bemused smile. “You should have seen Jihoon try to put books into the top shelf. I had to keep snatching the books from his hands-“

And like the ninja Jihoon was, he quickly elbows Junhui on his ribs before adding, “That was one time.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, dude.” Junhui is still nursing the area where Jihoon’s joints connected with his body when he asks, “So, we were planning on getting some Chinese takeout for tonight. Want to come with?”

Wonwoo hesitates at first, his body urging him to head home and to climb under his sheets, until he remembers the feeling that brewed inside his chest the last time he opted to ditch his friends. A dinner out with Junhui and Jihoon surely wouldn’t kill him. He eats at the anxiety climbing his throat before he replies, “Sure, let me just time out.”

Junhui gives him a brief nod of approval before turning around to smack Jihoon on his shoulders. As Wonwoo enters the breakroom to push in his timesheet, he almost misses the pair of bodies almost glued together at their faces. 

He circles back to the hours he spent watching Seungkwan and Hansol fight over the last pudding snack pack and argue over who was more good looking to work at the checkout counter and concludes that they are _technically_ still going at each other’s throats. Just… differently.

A strange feeling begins to brew at the bottom of his stomach, a mixture of hydrochloric acid and disarray waiting to climb his digestive tract. Seeing the two (probably very hormonal) teenagers share their saliva doesn’t exactly make him uncomfortable, but it does make him want to hide under a rock or live as a hermit in a faraway land.

Hansol is the first to notice Wonwoo staring at them in horror, peeling away from Seungkwan’s lips and acknowledging his presence. “Hey, hyung. You going to head out for the night?” He says it so casually, as if he weren’t just breathing in Seungkwan like he was some expensive cinnamon-scented candle (because we can all admit that cinnamon smells fucking amazing).

A few seconds tick by, signaled by the off-pitch beeping of the run-down ice cream machine in the distance, and Wonwoo finally stops his ‘The Scream’ impression to punch out for the evening. “Y-yep. I-I’m going to head out now. Of the store. A-and this r-room. Where the both of you are. Right.” He slowly backpedals, his eyes still bleeding with confusion.

Seungkwan turns to give a polite bow and waves Wonwoo off. “Good night, hyung. See you next weekend!”

Wonwoo could only offer them a slow nod as he shuts the door, swearing he could see Hansol going back to work tracing his way down Seungkwan’s neck. He dashes back over to where Junhui and Jihoon were waiting for him, taking both of their wrists by surprise, and pulling them out of the grocery in record time.

“What’s the rush, Jeon Stallion?” Junhui asks, weaving through body after body in counterflow in an attempt to keep up with Wonwoo’s pace.

Wonwoo turns at him, looking almost traumatized. “N-nothing’s wrong! Everything is great. Let’s get Chinese food,” he exclaims awkwardly.

Junhui and Jihoon share a look of concern and simply shrug their shoulders, still trailing behind Wonwoo who is honestly considering throwing out Soonyoung’s cucumber-scented shampoo when he gets back to his dorm.

Getting into a rhythm for his new life with roommates comes ironically fast.

While Wonwoo initially feared that he would be unable to synchronize himself with his roommates’ personalities and habits, he finds that the three of them sort of balance each other out. They get into a unspoken agreement on their living arrangements that forces them to never bring visitors over, aside from Jihoon who is technically also their roommate, or blast loud music beyond ten in the evening (the time the three of them settled with after Wonwoo woke up to Junhui screaming at Soonyoung for dancing to another one of his pop songs at one in the morning).

Though, Wonwoo would probably be the last person to know about the intricacies of communal living having spent most of life in a house with his mom as his only companion. They weren’t ones to quarrel since they kept an honest relationship with one another, releasing the negative thoughts as soon as they formed. 

So, he’s not too sure where to rank his relationship with his roommates. While he’s been lucky so far that they all offer to chip on the chores and keep to their own spaces during their downtime, there are several events that squeeze into their seemingly impeccable symbiosis that make him question whether or not they each secretly want to poison one another.

Like when Soonyoung pounds on the bathroom door every morning when Junhui takes too long in the shower and wastes all the hot water. Or when Junhui scolds Soonyoung for always eating all the food he makes. Or how they both have to shake Wonwoo from his trance each time he’s way too invested in his latest read.

It’s the game of relationship tug-of-war that makes him wonder how they will make it to the end of the school year without either being at each other’s beck-and-call or sacrificing one person to afford soundproofing for their room to combat their neighbor’s less than subtle sexcapades.

Although, Wonwoo would have to admit that he is a stickler of traditions. Soonyoung’s incessant thumping on the bathroom door has been Wonwoo’s personal alarm clock in the morning and he doesn’t fail to notice how Junhui always stows away a plate of food in the fridge for Wonwoo so that he can sample Junhui’s cooking. 

Which is how he came to the conclusion that maybe he did luck out on roommate roulette and saved himself from being shot by another possibly insane companion.

The walk to campus has also been the highlight of his morning during his first week in university. On Mondays and Thursdays, the three of them wait for Jihoon inside the lobby and travel together given how they all have morning classes on those days. 

Soonyoung would blabber about whatever idol group he’s been gushing over recently or the latest game he wants to test on Jihoon’s various gaming consoles, none the wiser that the latter is barely paying attention as he sifts through the piano app on his phone. Junhui goes through his usual lineup of memes saved in his gallery, pulling up a new one every few seconds to show to Wonwoo. And while Wonwoo has the humor equivalent of dry paint, he tries his best to show the faintest interest in the complexity of pop culture. 

Well, at least if cats are involved.

However, this Monday brings a different set-up. Since he shares his Introduction to Pharmacy Practice course with the Pharmaceutical Sciences students, Minghao decides to join their small group as they head for campus. Now, Junhui and Minghao are conversing using their native tongue with Wonwoo at the tail end of their party, trying his best to make himself invisible. He rubs the knuckles of his hands and repeatedly readjusts his glasses in an attempt to calm his nerves, convincing himself that he does not need Junhui’s arm around his shoulder to keep him sane.

There’s a certain aura to the campus that makes Wonwoo feel infinitely smaller when he walks down the concrete steps without a body by his side. Suddenly, the buildings are miles high and the early autumn air that blows through is a few degrees too close to freezing, sending chills down his spine despite the light jacket he has on. He’s increasingly aware of how alone he feels despite his friends a mere five steps away from him.

Though, to him, they might as well be across Mt. Everest or the Pacific Ocean. Several students strut past him, probably on their way to their own morning classes, and he feels like their eyes are bearing holes into his body. Their gaze, no matter how harmless they may be in totality, still have a power over him that overpowers his rationality.

Like he’s back in high school in the village, every student not even sparing a single glance in his direction unless to size him up.

He pulls at the cuffs of his jacket, bringing them over his hands and feeling at the soft fabric. He tries to root himself in reality again. While he may be alone at the moment, he is not in the village and he is not a high school student anymore. Things in the city were different and he had to keep that in mind. He had to be stronger if he wanted to have friends to stick around with. It was a silent promise he made with himself, one he plans on seeing through.

So, he pushes through with walking solo, pointedly staring at his footsteps to avoid meeting eyes with strangers. He would get over that worry at a later time. For now, making it to his building in one levelheaded piece was his priority.

After they bid farewell to Jihoon first and Soonyoung second, they make it to the lecture hall with a few minutes to spare before the start of their class. Wonwoo tries not to take it too personally when Junhui unannouncedly goes with Minghao to his seat in the front of the room next to Seokmin and the oversized puppy he refuses to name. 

This was absolutely fine; Junhui was allowed to have friends aside from him.

Wonwoo makes a beeline for the anime seat that is luckily still unoccupied. He shrugs his backpack off and notices Dahyun and Sana a seat over, once again engrossed in another video playing on one of their cellphones. He readies his notebook and pen and tries not to stare at the back of Junhui’s head, the person in question laughing at something Seokmin is probably imitating or gesticulating.

He tries to peel his eyes away from them, barely noticing Dahyun pulling up into the seat beside him. “No Junhui oppa today, Wonwoo-ya?”

“W-what?” Wonwoo is taken aback, nearly knocking over the contents of his desk.

“I caught you staring at him like you were a kid who had his toy taken away from him,” Dahyun teases with a knowing smile. Beside her, Sana is fiddling with a laptop and is opening their shared notes for the lecture.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wonwoo stutters, the flush on his face betraying his words.

Dahyun looks at him like she wants to say more but holds her tongue. “Don’t worry, we’ll keep you company, right, unnie?” She hooks an arm around Sana, pulling her into attention. Sana merely squints aggressively at him, trying to look intimidating but is forsaken by the cute smile she is obviously repressing.

Wonwoo gives them a grateful nod in reply as Yoochun enters the lecture hall and pulls up his presentation. He was about to start jotting down notes when Dahyun flags him down.

“Are you really going to copy his entire lecture handwritten?” Dahyun raises an eyebrow at him, already typing away on her laptop.

He looks between his notebook, the pages marred with black ink and holes, and Dahyun, trying his best to mask his doubt when he responds. “Yes?”

“You sure about that?” Dahyun offers him a sympathetic smile and Wonwoo feels like crawling out of the room in shame. “If you want, you can dictate to me what’s popping up on screen. I’m making this module for midterms that I can share with you. Usually Sana unnie would help me, but she gets distracted easily.” 

“I do not!” Sana whispers defensively, careful not to bring attention to them as the class begins to rev up to full speed.

Wonwoo considers it for a moment, thinking back to how he had to ice his hand last week after burning through almost fifteen leaves ( _back to back!_ ) of his notebook just to keep up with Yoochun basically rapping out the lecture, and almost considers accepting the offer when a stupid little thing called pride pushes at his gut. He had already spent his money on a new set of filler notebooks and pens, and he felt inclined to see his purchase through.

“I think I’ll be good,” Wonwoo answers, the words being engraved on his tombstone like his penultimate quote before he died of severe skin burns on his hands.

Sure enough, Yoochun doesn’t hold back on his lecture, running through centuries of ancestors using crude medicinal herbs for simple wounds to the more systemized writings of the Egyptians on the Papyrus Ebers to the organization of the apothecary that would be the stepping stone to modern pharmacy practice.

Wonwoo’s hand might as well be leaving trails of fire in its wake, the pace of his hand enough to send sparks flying. And they were not the Taylor Swift kind. He could feel his muscles tensing up with every scratch of skin against the rough paper. 

On his right, Dahyun was transcribing the notes down with ease, looking almost bored even despite her swift fingers. And just as Dahyun had warned, Sana was again scrolling down her timeline, giggling at some man getting hit unnecessarily hard by what appears to be a rubber chicken.

He had only stopped to take a breather for a good minute when he saw that Yoochun had passed yet another century of pharmacy history. At this point, his notebook resembled the writings from a time long past and might easily pass off as a relic with a few more well-placed coffee stains.

Wonwoo’s endeavors to keep up with his professor’s lecture were futile. He was simply outclassed by the parade of laptops and his own desire to make his own notes. Maybe if his own pride weren’t so stuck up, he might actually find a more efficient way to go about things.

All the way at the front, Mingyu was raising his hand over and over to answer questions just as Yoochun finished saying them or providing additional information to what was already being flashed from the projector. Wonwoo knew Mingyu was a child genius, but even a connoisseur in the field of pharmacy history? He had to keep up somehow.

He stops to take another short breath, stuffing a pillow on his pride’s face as he pipes up, “Hey, um- Dahyun.”

Dahyun simply hums in reply, her eyes still peeled on her laptop and her lips pulled in a tense line. She stays exceptionally quiet, encouraging him to press forward.

Wonwoo gulps down, hoping his saliva can drown his pride before it impedes him a second time. “Um, can I-I… help with your module?”

With that, Dahyun’s lips curve in a mischievous grin of triumph. “Of course you can, Wonwoo-ya. Just dictate to me what’s on screen no matter how fast. I can catch up, promise.” She stretches out her knuckles, triggering a tingling sensation in Wonwoo’s ears.

Much to his surprise, Dahyun _was_ able to keep up her typing speed even when Yoochun seems adamant on flashing slides for about five seconds each. After a short while, Sana stops using her phone to notice Wonwoo orating the words flying on the screen. The two get into a short quarrel about the best way to make the transcription before Dahyun silences them both for distracting her.

They eventually get into an unspoken flow with Wonwoo generally passing on most of the information and Sana catching the small details that Dahyun might have missed. As they work, Wonwoo’s eyes flick over to where Sana is looping the loose ends of Dahyun’s bun with her fingers. He also doesn’t fail to notice how Sana’s nose is inches away from Dahyun’s cheek, the slightest of movements enough to connect the two parts. 

Yoochun eventually cuts the lecture for the day, stopping at the advent of pharmacy in Catholicism. Wonwoo was already beginning to stretch in his seat when the professor called for everyone to sit down for a short briefing. 

“I forgot to mention our project in our last meeting together when we discussed the syllabus. I guess these neurons are beginning to lose their myelin sheaths, huh?” A soft choir of laughs erupts in the room, sounding more like _please-pass-me_ giggles than anything caused by actual amusement. 

For the next several minutes, Yoochun details the elements of their final output for the class. It was supposedly a legacy project proposed several decades ago. The university had mandated all students from the different colleges to participate in the history of the revered institution by forming their own version of the university timeline. This included, not only the history of the student’s home college, but the history of every other college on campus from the day of its conception to the present time.

“It’s tradition, guys. I did it, my seniors did it, and, if you’re a legacy, your parents most probably did it, as well.” Yoochun takes a seat on the desk by the podium, his forearms out in display from his white button-down shirt and the slight slouch in his posture showing off his youth. “I know it sounds like a lot, but it’s doable. And I’m not a heartless person, you know? We’re going to do this project in groups. One group, one output; it’s as simple as that.”

The class celebrates with a boisterous noise, seatmates hugging one another like they had just escaped from being chosen as the tribute for the annual hunger games.

Yoochun raises a hand to silence the lecture hall. “Okay, so I’ll give you,” he examines his wristwatch before continuing, “five minutes to group yourselves. I’m putting a maximum of four members for each group, so feel free to have as many or as few people as you like.” 

Immediately, the class erupts in a veritable horde of feet stomping past one another to begin their academic matchmaking. Most of the class seems to settle for their seatmates to form groups. Several students migrate over from end to end, looking to fill in the empty slots. 

Wonwoo looks over to where Junhui is seated. While he had hoped that Junhui would call him over to form their own group, the latter seemed highly content with his own circle consisting of Mingyu, Seokmin, and Minghao. 

He tries to swallow past the lump forming in his throat, his eyes fixated on Junhui’s hand looped around Mingyu’s shoulder. It was an expected sight given how touchy Junhui was with everyone, so much so that it would be more of an anomaly to see Junhui _not_ attached to another body, hugging them or ruffling their hair in delight.

So, why did it feel different this time around?

In the middle of his stupor, he almost misses Dahyun slamming a piece of paper on his desk. “So, we’re going to be three in this group. Is that okay with you, Wonwoo-ya?”

“Oh,” he turns to face the pair, Dahyun writing down their names while Sana stands behind their chairs. “Who’s in the group?”

“There’s me, Sana unnie, and you,” she points at each of them. “Does that seem fine? Unless you want to add one more person.” Dahyun’s eyes turn to face the front of the room, flashing him a grin that he couldn’t quite read. Wonwoo follows her line of sight to watch Junhui guffaw at something Mingyu said, patting the latter like he was a dog who deserved a bone.

Wonwoo mentally sighs. “No, no one else.”

“And it is thus written.” Dahyun caps off her pen in a dramatic fashion, like a samurai returning their sword into its sheath. “Let it be known on this fine autumn day that we three, of sound mind and beautiful bodies, shall be bound together at the leg, vowing to finish this project without murdering one another.” She beams wide eyes at them, raising both eyebrows meaningfully. “Sound good?”

While Wonwoo reluctantly nods, wondering what he just got himself into, Sana giggles at the declaration, lowering her chin to the top of Dahyun’s head to achieve a better angle to hug the younger. And it appears that Dahyun is one to appreciate skinship, a soft smile spreading across her face like wildfire.

Dahyun hands him the paper to submit to Yoochun and he slowly makes his way to the front. Wonwoo makes it a point not to look a few degrees to his left, a petty attempt to avoid meeting eyes with a certain group of people.

Yoochun accepts the paper with a warm smile and, from this distance, Wonwoo can see just how young his professor really is. The man still has softer features on his face and, while his eyes appeared slightly tired at the edges, they were still bright and full.

As Wonwoo returns to his seat, a hand firmly grips his wrist and, immediately, he has an inkling as to who it belongs to. He wills himself not to turn around, as if to avoid staring into Medusa’s gaze. Although, at this point, he already feels like his body is petrified.

“Hey, Jeon.”

Wonwoo turns on his heels at a snail’s pace and feels something sick bubble in his stomach. He wants to be mad at Junhui for sitting beside Minghao instead of him during class but there’s no logic to his jealousy. It’s pathetic, really. Wonwoo doesn’t own Junhui in any way or form.

When he finally faces Junhui, Wonwoo’s heart races in his chest. Junhui grip on his hand loosens slightly and something akin to concern is sprawled over his face. Junhui’s flat expression slowly curls upwards when Wonwoo finally meets his eyes. 

And Junhui’s eyes. Wonwoo has seen it on several occasions given their close proximity to one another, such as when Junhui has his arm looped around his neck when they walk to class or when the boy falls asleep with his eyes open ( _what was up with that?_ ). But Wonwoo thinks that they look the best when Junhui smiles, the slant in his eyes making them seem catlike and the color in his iris that shine the supplest auburn brown.

Wonwoo could easily get lost in the sea of mesmerizing rods and cones, but he won’t let himself go there.

“Were you able to find a group to be with?” Junhui’s voice has a warm timbre that melts his frozen state, like regaining the feeling in one’s fingers after an afternoon nap.

“Uh,” Wonwoo struggles to push out the words, “y-yeah.”

Junhui’s smile grows wider at that and Wonwoo wants to bash his head into a wall. “That’s good. Sorry if I didn’t sit with you today, guess I got lost in my conversation with Haohao.”

“It’s okay,” and it really was, he tries to convince himself.

“Plus, I don’t think you would have liked to be groupmates with,” Junhui gestures behind him where Minghao and the puppy were whispering to one another. Next to them, Seokmin sat completely oblivious as he talks animatedly with a girl Wonwoo thinks is named Yuna.

Wonwoo is quick to shake his head in denial, but Junhui has seen enough of his bullshit to know when Wonwoo is just trying to save face. 

“Sure, Jeon.” Junhui raises a suggestive eyebrow at him. “I was going to head over to Mingyu’s dorm to plan out the legacy project.” He looks at a point behind Wonwoo tentatively before continuing, “do you want to come with me?”

A tight leash wraps itself around Wonwoo’s lungs, or another vise to that capacity, because it feels tremendously difficult to breathe. He tries to look past the consideration in Junhui’s words and zones in on the fact that he asked Wonwoo to come _with him_.

In the corner of his eyes, the glow of Sana’s orange hair catches his attention, her hands waving to call him over. Beside her, Dahyun was looking at the exchange between the two of them, an unreadable expression written on her face contrasting her fair skin. The lecture hall was thinning out as the majority of the class began to depart.

Wonwoo swallows past the growing lump in his throat. “I think my groupmates want to talk about the legacy project, too.”

“Oh, right.” He thinks he sees Junhui deflate a little, but the look is gone just as fast as it came. “You should head over there before Dahyun kicks your ass again.”

“Hey,” Wonwoo fakes exasperation, “I’m not that weak, you know?”

Just as the words exit his mouth, Junhui promptly brings a palm to Wonwoo’s face, a few centimeters short from making contact. Wonwoo immediately shuts his eyes closed and flinches away in self-defense and realizes exactly what the other was trying to accomplish. When he peels his eyes open, he registers Junhui’s smug grin and the hand that ruffles his hair.

“Okay, ha ha ha, you got me,” Wonwoo deadpans. “But I bet you would do the same if say, someone did the same to you!” Wonwoo mimics Junhui’s actions, raising his fist a several breaths away from Junhui’s nose. A frown forms on Wonwoo’s face when he sees that Junhui didn’t even blink as his smug grin becomes pompous.

“You’re cute, Jeon.” Junhui lowers Wonwoo’s fist with a single finger, a testament to Wonwoo’s physical prowess. “Now, get a move on before Dahyun really kicks your ass.”

Wonwoo glares at him but complies, pacing back to his seat without turning around. His seatmates are all packed up, their arms looped around one another by their hips. Dahyun is the first to comment on Wonwoo’s frazzled state.

“Took you long enough, Wonwoo-ya,” Dahyun mentions with a playful tone. “I told you to submit our names, not get into a fist fight.”

“Sorry, I didn’t notice I took so long,” Wonwoo confesses while retrieving his backpack.

Dahyun raises a hand to stop him. “It’s fine, I didn’t want to ruin your little moment there.” She raises one of her eyebrows and Sana giggles beside her.

When Wonwoo can’t find a proper retort, Sana breaks the silence. “So, we were thinking of going to the library to do some initial research. Nothing too big, just wanted to get a head start on things. We could also grab lunch together since we have the same classes and all!” She begins to bounce on the spot like she was a eight-year-old inviting him over for a tea party.

“Uh, sure.” Wonwoo glances behind his shoulder to see that they were the last ones in the lecture hall.

“Great!” Sana beams, dragging along a very willing Dahyun out of the room.

It’s only when they exit the building and the piercing heat of the midday sun strikes his skin does Wonwoo finally even out his breathing. He wills his heart to diminish its repetitive pounding in his ribcage, trying to calm himself when he realizes that, throughout their entire exchange, Junhui was holding his hand.

“Look at what I found, guys!” Sana comes rushing towards their table, slamming a large book on their table causing the dust collected on the cover to fly off and a chorus of shushes to erupt from on-lookers.

Wonwoo hides face behind the catalogs he was sorting through, a tinge of red-hot embarrassment reaching his ears. 

Sana winces at her actions and looks around her to yell out an apology only to earn herself another round of hushes. Dahyun pulls her down to the seat beside her own to remind her where they were.

He wasn’t sure why he expected the library to look like the one the Beast (did the character even have a real name?) gave Belle as a present in the Beauty and the Beast movie he saw as a kid. But then again Wonwoo’s brain tends to forget that he does not live in 17th century France. 

Though he hypothesizes that, even in that time period, he would most probably still be considered _strange, no question_. Cue his dramatic overture!

The university library was the closest thing Wonwoo had seen to an introverted doomsday prepper’s wet dream come true. Floor after floor was lined with shelves of books, journals, and dissertations on just about every field of practice. While the place smelled of lemon air freshener, the subtle undertone of worn-out books felt familiar for his senses to grasp. He could honestly live in the building if the books were replaced with more gripping plotlines or social discourses as opposed to the work of countless academics planted together under the same roof.

Their group was seated in one of the public reading rooms that housed the older pieces which could only be accessed inside the establishment. Across from him, Dahyun and Sana were skimming through the School of Pharmacy’s coffee table book that contained a summarized version of their college’s history. The two of them had been almost inseparable the whole way to the library, only parting ways twice to store their things away before entering and when Sana had to request for another article to be brought out.

They had agreed that Dahyun would be the one leading the charge for the legacy project given how Sana has the attention span of a goldfish and how Wonwoo was as assertive as a piece of chewing gum. It was the strategic move for the group.

Back in the village, his classmates knew of Wonwoo’s capabilities. They understood that they could most probably disappear for a week and come back like nothing had happened and still have the assurance that Wonwoo completed their work regardless of the absence of his team.

However, in the city, he was back at square one. Just another body trying to prove himself. As much as his anxiety was itching to gain control of the entire operation, Wonwoo opted to be a devoted follower since most of the project had included infographic creation and other visual designing pieces. Skills he certainly did not possess. 

So, here he was, sifting through the catalogs for records on the university and its history since establishment. He had been assigned to look for the overall history of the university as their group would focus on their work in a chronological fashion, beginning from the colleges that were established earlier and accomplishing each part towards the present. Dahyun’s plan was intuitive and would anticipate any additional information found that could make their project more exhaustive.

After he had retrieved a book from the archivist, he made his way back to the table only to see Jeonghan sitting across from the duo.

“Oh, Wonwoo, there you are! I was just about to look for you,” Jeonghan waved him offer, nudging his golden bangs out of his eyes.

Wonwoo deposits the book on the table, a few hundred decibels lower than when Sana had flung the coffee table book earlier, and sits beside Jeonghan. “Hi, hyung. What’s up?”

Jeonghan reaches a hand out and situates it behind Wonwoo’s chair as he says, “I was just telling these young ladies about the schedule for the auditions of the Pharmacy Music Society.”

At that, Wonwoo turns to inspect Sana resting her head on Dahyun’s shoulder. It suddenly clicks in his head, the reason as to why the pair looked so familiar ever since they had been introduced to one another. They were the girls who were beside Junhui and him when they got oriented for the organization.

“So, it’s really all week long, oppa?” Sana asks from her position.

Jeonghan nods in response. “We want to leave it as open as possible so that it can fit every possible applicant’s schedules.” He points at the three of them individually before adding, “When do you guys plan on auditioning?”

In truth, Wonwoo had almost forgotten that he agreed to audition in the first place. While the semester had not picked up yet, there was a certain aura of dread and weariness looming in the library. Around them were packs of older students, probably seniors already working on their research papers and thesis proposals, if the number of journals sprawled over their table were to indicate anything. He had been spending so long mentally preparing himself for his requirements that the extracurricular commitment he made blinked itself out of his memory.

“Sana unnie and I were planning on auditioning this Friday afternoon after our medicinal botany class.” Dahyun announces, petting Sana’s hair almost casually.

“Friday afternoon,” Jeonghan types the words into his phone with a nod, “got it. How about you, Wonwoo?”

“Um, I’m not sure yet.” Wonwoo brings a hand to his mouth, nearly biting at his nails from the sudden spotlight shone on him. He didn’t enjoy the feeling of coming unprepared, more so with expectant eyes pointed in his direction.

Dahyun speaks up for the lost boy. “He’ll audition on Friday afternoon, too.” When Wonwoo gapes at her, she merely rolls her eyes. “We share the same classes, so I’ll make sure to drag him there in case he chickens out.”

“I wasn’t going to chicken out,” Wonwoo defends, crossing his arms in protest.

Dahyun hums in reply, barely sparing a glance as she returns to typing out the outline for their project. Jeonghan peeks over from where he’s seated, eyeing the numerous articles spread throughout their table. 

“Are you firsties working on your legacy project?” Jeonghan inquires, receiving a chorus of nods in reply. “I remember my own legacy project like it was yesterday.” He looks over them and brings both hands to his nape like a neck pillow as if he were imagining his own cherished memories.

Dahyun groans from her seat, stretching her fingers to loosen them up. “Has it always been this tedious?” She rotates her laptop to present her _rough_ outline, which just so happened to span five pages even with the font size set at ten. “We have our work cut out for us.”

Jeonghan breaks away from his reverie to scroll through the document, looking pointedly at each emphasized bullet. “Yeah, this reminds me of the one I made by myself before.”

“You had to make it individually?” Sana questioned.

“Yep,” Jeonghan gestures back to the outline. “My batch was actually the last one to experience working on the project individually.” When they turn to look at him with faces that scream ‘ _how in the fuck_ ,’ he chuckles. “It wasn’t so bad, I promise. I had my parents’ legacy project to guide me.”

Wonwoo couldn’t stop his curiosity from popping out. “You’re a legacy, hyung?”

“It’s the only reason I’m in this university to begin with.” Jeonghan shrugs. “And, as you can see, things are going absolutely splendidly. I’m a year behind my friends who will be graduating next semester, stuck with the kids I oriented for the other orgs I’m in, and retaking subjects I already had to crawl through once before. Gotta love it.” He leans back on his seat, nearly tipping over with the angle he maintains.

Wonwoo remembers the first conversation he had with Jeonghan, all the apprehension he held for himself and his current academic state. He couldn’t help but wonder if that might be him someday.

Jeonghan leans back into the table and places both elbows on the surface, clapping his hands in resolve. “Well, that was depressing, wasn’t it?” He exhales a pitiful laugh in the hopes of un-scarring them. “Don’t worry too much, kiddos. I’m sure you guys will kill it.” The blonde scans the room before addressing them in a hushed volume. “If you want, I could always send you the legacy project Jisoo made in our first year. His was awarded as the best work in our program for that year.”

The words set off a twisted feeling in the innermost portions of Wonwoo’s subconscious.

During his off time in high school, Wonwoo would frequent a couple of books he had landed when his mother took him to the weekend market. Aside from his growing collection of angsty teenage coming-of-age stories, Wonwoo had amassed several fictional crime novels. He’s burned through enough pages to understand the intricacies of criminal activity and shady business, the main character always pressed to choose between the moral highroad or the pleasurable route of disaster. This moment felt no different. 

Looking at Jeonghan now, offering Jisoo’s legacy project to them so willingly yet privately felt like he was a crook trying to seal a deal. And Wonwoo was oh-so curious about what was being presented. 

It’s not that he wanted to have the best project out of the bunch. Well, maybe it was a little bit of that. Further adding fuel to the fire was the desire to prove himself to a certain puppy, a flame of ambition slowly materializing in the recesses of his brain. That would show him for grouping up with Junhui and-

No, he was not going to open that can of worms.

Across from him, Dahyun shakes her head in disagreement. “That’s fine, oppa. I think my group can handle this project, no biggie.” She grins at her groupmates, awaiting their nods of approval.

Jeonghan appears placated at the response, looking outwardly proud at them for choosing the higher ground. “And I have all my faith that you will.” He gets up from his seat and twists his body in a stretch. “I’ll be off for now, kiddos. See you on Friday?”

“We’ll be there,” Dahyun assures as Sana gives a rolling pair of thumbs up.

As Jeonghan waves them farewell, Wonwoo makes a note to slap himself when he’s alone. He wasn’t sure what had come over him, the wave of greed still fresh in his system. 

Realistically speaking, accepting Jeonghan’s offer was the easy way out, a golden ticket to scratching the legacy project off their to-do list lickety-split. However, it was also the _easy way out_ , he had to remind himself. Nothing good would have come out of it. Wonwoo has seen enough afterschool specials to know that cheating is wrong.

Also, where was the honor and pride in knowing that he had accomplished such a feat? The guilt would eat him up sooner than he would realize. 

Instead of dwelling, he sifts through the borrowed content on their workspace, looking for anything worth adding to their growing database for the project.

Monday had a reputation for being the longest day of the week and the title was definitely well-earned.

What had initially started as a simple reconnaissance visit to the library quickly turned into a full-on research bonanza when their professor in the afternoon had cancelled their session. Dahyun had suggested to finish their own college’s portion for the project, leaving the remaining parts for the weeks to follow. With the overflowing determination in her eyes, Wonwoo didn’t have the heart to decline.

After having spent seven hours reading article after article, journal entry after journal entry, his eyes were sore from overexertion and his brain was still on overdrive. Wonwoo hoped that at least the mental momentum would carry over to the tasks he had to accomplish for the evening. 

Just as he opened the door to his dorm, looking to get a few minutes of shuteye before working into the evening, he catches Soonyoung in the middle of the room posing in every which way. Balanced on one leg, Soonyoung had his other leg extended towards the door and his hands reaching for the bed. Like this, Soonyoung reminded him of a figure skater being lifted into the air. Wonwoo stands transfixed by the door, trying to absorb the situation in front of him.

“Hey, man,” Soonyoung says without breaking his form. The sound of ocean waves can be heard from a Bluetooth speaker and a yoga mat was spread across the only available space on their floor. Completely normal things to see on a Monday evening.

“Uh, hi.” Wonwoo tries to maneuver around Soonyoung but, considering the size of their puny room, there wasn’t much leeway. Which is why Wonwoo settles on the welcome rug, right next to his shoes. A milestone off the bucket list, _watch your roommate defy every normal range of muscle motion while sitting next to smelly sneakers, check_.

Soonyoung peers at Wonwoo from his position, careful not to slip up. “Junhui’s not with you?”

Wonwoo shakes his head in reply. He actually hadn’t heard back from Junhui ever since the latter told him to go back to the dorm without him. The message was a welcome distraction from having to sit through Dahyun and Sana making ogling eyes at one another, almost completely oblivious to the fact that Wonwoo had been trying to get their attention for several minutes.

“That’s alright, dude.” Soonyoung slowly lowers his limbs, bending over to reach for his toes. Wonwoo quickly turns away and looks pointedly at the keyhole by the door to avoid seeing a whole other keyhole. “I actually wanted to ask you something.”

“What is it?” Wonwoo says while rearranging the shoes by the door.

“Well, it’s more of an invitation than a question.” Soonyoung strains through the words as he tries to maintain his posture for his current stance. “See, there’s this event coming up and I wanted you to come with me.”

“An event?”

“Yeah, the first-year welcoming party. It’s this Saturday.”

Ah, yes. Wonwoo had actually heard about the event from Junhui during class. While the event was intended to celebrate the university’s annual inauguration, students have mostly taken the opportunity to celebrate their school spirit with alcohol and vandalism. Over time, the focus had shifted from an entire student body blowout to a celebration to welcome the first-year students considering the university’s excessively grand welcoming gesture (which did not exist). 

After the university’s pointless non-mandatory program in the morning, students would flock to the university dormitories to begin the actual celebration. A mass exodus over the quad in the name of keggers and cheap liquor.

“What about it?” Wonwoo tries to feign aloofness, highly intent on avoiding yet another social gathering.

“You guys should totally come with me!” Soonyoung mercifully erects his gait, turning to face Wonwoo. “I met this girl in my program, and I was thinking of asking her out for the party. But she only ever goes out when she’s with her friends, so I was thinking that just maybe,” Soonyoung approaches him and takes a seat in front of the bathroom door, “I could set you up with someone!”

Wonwoo could only stare at Soonyoung like the latter just suggested they smoke crack while jumping off a skyscraper. Not only was Soonyoung suggesting that Wonwoo go with him to a party full of complete strangers, but he was also planning on pairing him up with someone just so that Soonyoung could make advances on some girl. He felt like he was going to hurl.

“No.”

Soonyoung visibly deflates beside him. “What do you mean no?”

Wonwoo reclines on his spot, nearly knocking over the induction stove from its perch ( _seriously, everything in this dorm room is too damn small_ ). “I mean to say that I don’t want to go to the party.”

Soonyoung lines himself with Wonwoo, connecting their shoulders as they sit side by side. “Aw, come on. You can be my wingman! Normally Jihoonie would do it but he only succeeds in scaring away anyone who remotely talks to me,” Soonyoung scratches the back of his neck with a shy grin.

Wonwoo can only sigh at his roommate’s enthusiasm. “Look, Soonyoung. As much as I want you to be with this girl-“

“Her name’s Chungha,” Soonyoung adds.

“As much as I want you to be with _Chungha_ ,” Wonwoo corrects, “I just don’t feel like being someone’s third wheel all night.”

“But you won’t be!” Soonyoung protests. “You can chat it up with her friend and it will be like a double date or something. I already told her friend all about you, said that you were into books and that you were a national champion. See, that’s hot, Wonwoo. Girls dig that kind of stuff!”

Wonwoo feels himself shiver in discomfort. Added to the usual distaste for compliments was the thought of being auctioned off to a girl he didn’t even know. The feeling alone made Wonwoo want to shrivel and decompose. “I’m sorry, but the answer is still no.” He begins to stand on his feet when Soonyoung holds his wrist to bring him down again.

“Come on, Wonwoo. It will be fun.” Soonyoung flashes the sincerest pleading eyes Wonwoo has ever seen and he feels like an Imperius curse was cast on him. “You can bring Junhui along, so you have a wingman of your own. And if you remember, you promised to tag along the next time we went out. So, please please please please please…?”

Wonwoo had grown thicker skin against Soonyoung’s hamster eyes after he had given up enough fruit snacks than he could count after the latter’s begging for ‘ _just one more piece_.’ But what he was not prepared for was the guilt card, anything but the guilt card. 

If Wonwoo wasn’t going to cave from Soonyoung’s manipulative gaze, it was the remorse that was festering at the bottom of his gut that would push him off the edge. The feeling that had bloomed from the first night he ditched his friends had only grown into a patch of weeds that tugged at his heart.

He sighs and caves in. “Fine.”

“Really?” Soonyoung’s expression goes from desperate and pleading to genuinely pleased in the blink of an eye. He pulls up Wonwoo in a tight bearhug, thrashing him around like he had won a prize in one the midway games that was meant to scam every coin out of you. “You’re the best, Won!”

“Okay,” Wonwoo replies and allows himself to be tossed around for a bit. 

“Plus, I think Seulgi – she’s Chunga’s friend, by the way – found you very attractive on paper, Mr. Bigshot.” Soonyoung nudges Wonwoo’s shoulder playfully, his eye smile in full swing. “Thanks again, dude. I owe you big time.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Wonwoo enters the bathroom to wash up. He lets the cold water of the faucet run over hands to will them to stop shaking. He hates himself for being this weak, so anxious over a party and the idea of getting mixed up with another person. Most men his age would gladly take the opportunity to meet a beautiful woman in the slightest chance of going home with them, right? 

For Wonwoo, though? It was an absolute nightmare.

He washes his face several times to cool off the flush in his face. He was about to exit the bathroom when he heard someone make their way into the room. 

“Hey.” Junhui. Wonwoo could recognize the pitch of his voice even in a line-up.

“Oh, there you are. Where’d you come from?” From the sound of Soonyoung’s voice, Wonwoo could make out that he was by the kitchenette, probably about to start on the dishes that had piled up.

“Went out with the guys for dinner.”

“What, why didn’t you invite me?” Soonyoung’s reply came off a little accusing.

“It wasn’t anything special, we were just hanging out at Mingyu’s place and wanted to grab a bite.” Junhui replies nonchalantly.

Hanging out, huh? And here Wonwoo thought they were working on their legacy project the entire afternoon when, in truth, they were having the time of their lives without Wonwoo there to kill the mood.

Wonwoo lightly bangs his head on the door. He knows it’s not like that, that his friends most probably don’t see him that way, but a sick and twisted part of him wants a reason to distance himself from them. Like he’s begging to be alone again.

“Is Jeon here?” At the mention of his name, Wonwoo steps away from the door and cups his mouth like he’s trying to hide from a murderer. 

“Yeah, he’s in there.” He imagines Soonyoung pointing to the bathroom where he’s stowed away, and his heart rate rises. “He just got back a few minutes ago. Why weren’t you two together?”

“He went with his group to the library this afternoon for their legacy project.”

“I see.” There’s a beat of silence before Soonyoung continues, “Wait, you’re not in the same group as him?”

“No,” Junhui replied, his tone slightly aggravated. “We don’t have to do everything together, do we?” He says it like it was the most obvious thing in the world and Wonwoo wants to melt.

“Hey, no need to get all defensive about it. I thought it made more sense for you guys to team up for it. I worry about him sometimes and I just don’t want to make him feel left out of things.”

Soonyoung’s words linger in the air for a moment and Wonwoo takes the opportunity to breathe them in, making him melt for a different reason. The thought that Soonyoung worried about Wonwoo in that way made him feel fuzzy inside. Like he was made of cotton and was worth protecting.

When the two don’t speak after a while, Wonwoo realizes he is still hiding in the bathroom. He flushes the toilet to disguise the fact he was eavesdropping and steps out. Junhui is lying down on his bed while scrolling through his phone and Soonyoung is washing the dishes, just as Wonwoo had speculated.

Wonwoo tries to be as inconspicuous as possible, sitting down on the table and pulling out his chemistry notes. Just as he was about to start reviewing, he catches Junhui staring at him.

“What are you doing?” Junhui says, his gaze directed back to his phone which is probably for the best. Wonwoo really doesn’t want to look at him either.

“Um,” Wonwoo scans the things in front of him – his old chemistry book, the notes he had garnered over the years, and the periodic table filled with footnotes – and gulps down, “I’m studying. We have an exam tomorrow.”

Soonyoung turns from where he was lining up plates on the drying rack. “What? You guys have exams already?”

“A _diagnostic_ exam,” Junhui emphasizes the word, putting away his phone. “It doesn’t count for anything. Our professor just wants to gauge our knowledge on the fundamentals before she begins the lecture.” Junhui sits up from his position, finally looking at Wonwoo. “You don’t have to study for it, Jeon.”

“I-I know,” Wonwoo replies while tapping his fingers nervously on the paper. He refuses to meet Junhui’s eyes in fear of sudden combustion. “I just wanted to get a little reading in to refresh my memory.”

“You’re not serious, are you?” When Wonwoo remains silent, Junhui sighs. “Jeon, you’re probably the most well-versed in chemistry out of everyone in our program. If there’s anyone who needs to review right now, that should be me. But I’m not going to because the diagnostic exam is just meant to evaluate what we already know. Nothing more and nothing less.”

“Y-yes, but-“

“No, no. You are ruining the purpose of that evaluation by reviewing.” Junhui makes his way to the table and closes Wonwoo’s notes for him, arranging them in a neat pile. 

By the kitchenette, Soonyoung slowly sneaks out to throw away the garbage, for once almost mute to avoid interfering. Junhui tips Wonwoo’s chin up so that they are face to face. 

“I’m sure you’re going to do well, okay?” Junhui’s voice calmed down significantly, already back to the one Wonwoo was accustomed with. “Don’t burn yourself out this early. There are more important things we can use our energy for, and this is not one of them.”

Up close, Wonwoo can see the different moles on Junhui’s face. The beauty marks on his cheek, by his nose, atop his lips forming a constellation that Wonwoo imagines tracing. Anything to distract himself from looking into Junhui’s eyes that are pointed directly at him.

Wonwoo nods and Junhui steps back onto his bed. He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath in until he started feeling a tightness in his chest.

Junhui pulls up his phone again but continues his lecture. “Just rest for now, Jeon. You’ll thank yourself later for it.”

Wonwoo concedes and puts away his things to call it a night. But, as the night sinks in deeper, his brain won’t shut off like it usually does. He shifts uncomfortably under the covers and is unable to still himself to sleep. 

He thinks back to the events of the day, remembering how Junhui had chosen to sit in front. How he sat beside Mingyu and kept his hand clasped around the latter. How he spent the evening with his group instead of Wonwoo.

The last thought makes him sick in the stomach.

When Wonwoo hears Junhui snoring again, assured that the other is deep in the REM cycle, he opens the chemistry notes he has saved on his phone and reads through it until he falls asleep.

For his first time to play the guitar in front of an audience, Wonwoo was surprisingly calm while waiting for his turn.

Friday had rolled around faster than expected. His professors began their lectures and his evenings were filled with things to check off his to-do list. He picked up a couple of shifts in the grocery, luckily avoiding the high schoolers who only work on the weekends.

Wonwoo had almost abandoned his handwritten notes for his lectures. Dahyun sat beside him in almost all their classes and they had maintained the system that was established. He would continue to orate the presentation to Dahyun who would type the information down. He was grateful to have more hand energy to write down the notes for his pharmaceutical calculations and college chemistry courses.

However, he was not so grateful to see Junhui sitting more frequently in the front of the room instead of beside him at the back. As much as he tried to avoid looking at him, it was nearly impossible considering how Junhui’s head was almost always blocking his view of the professor. It would be during those moments that Wonwoo would see Junhui whispering something over to Minghao or making grabby hands at Mingyu’s biceps.

Those days were probably the worst.

Although this day was an exception. Wonwoo was seated outside a lecture hall on the first floor facing the college’s inner yard. The grass was neatly trimmed, and a few butterflies were fluttering about the sycamore tree situated at the near center. Around him, the fresh scent of mint that he had associated with his college was passing through and it made his nose tingle by the slightest of fractions. The sight was simplistic and snug, but Wonwoo could barely pay it any mind since, for the first time that week, Junhui was sitting beside him.

From the inside of the room, muffled piano notes can be heard with a sweet voice singing a song Wonwoo couldn’t recognize. Dahyun and Sana had gone in before them to perform a pair audition. While Wonwoo hadn’t planned to do anything together with Junhui for his audition, Jisoo had suggested the two come in simultaneously to save time.

The space between them had felt prickly and sharp ever since the events of Monday evening. The diagnostic exam went by without a hitch, nothing that Wonwoo was unfamiliar with. But Wonwoo can trace the advent of the awkwardness between Junhui and him from that moment forward. 

Junhui had ceased hooking his arm around Wonwoo’s shoulders on the way to class and maintained a rather reasonable social distance. And would it be weird to say that Wonwoo missed the proximity? His entire social bubble be damned when all he could think of was how cold his shoulder felt without Junhui around to share his heat.

Wonwoo despised how fast things had descended, how uneasy he felt whenever he wanted to say something to Junhui out of the blue. From where he’s seated, he can see Junhui staring off into space with his fingers mindlessly practicing on his lap. He wishes nothing more than to have something to say to Junhui, but nothing comes to him.

Perhaps he was doomed to ruin any semblance of friendship he could lay his hands on.

So, Wonwoo spends the time in his own bubble. Like this, he can sense his surroundings more vividly, as if his receptors were dialed up to eleven. The afternoon sun was slowly dipping behind the mountains and the sky burned a vibrant orange. He can smell Junhui’s familiar strawberry scent from where he’s pointedly turning away from the latter. His tongue has a lingering taste of the tteokbokki he had for lunch. Wonwoo grasps at the fray in his jeans, the rough denim and the tiny bits of skin that sneak their way out, sending multiple sensations to his brain.

Despite the sensory overload, Wonwoo doesn’t register any sound. The music from the room stopped moments back and the college is nearly empty at this hour. He takes a deep breath and searches for anything to focus on, any sound to ground himself on. Maybe a car racing through or a cicada performing a solo piece. However, only silence greets him. 

And the thing with silence is that it’s deafening.

So, Wonwoo can’t hear anything when Junhui nudges him off his seat to enter the room, passing by Dahyun and Sana giving them an encouraging nod. He can’t hear anything as he steps onto an elevated platform in front of several faces he’s seen around the college. He can’t hear anything when he grabs the guitar and places it on his lap.

Maybe like this, he wouldn’t have to listen to the rapid beating of his heart. The anxiety swelling in his brain bleeds into his skin and his breathing goes rigid.

He looks over to where Jisoo and Jeonghan are seated, the former explaining something he can’t comprehend. Junhui is seated facing the piano and his hands are centimeters away from the keys. He appears so concentrated and prepared one moment, only to lose his focus the next moment as he looks between Wonwoo and the panelists in front of them.

Wonwoo then realizes that all eyes were directed at him. Jeonghan was saying words he couldn’t hear or read, his ears refusing to function. The people beside Jisoo begin to tap their pens expectedly and appear almost impatient. Like Wonwoo was wasting their time.

His hands were shaking and his grip on the guitar was faltering. Wonwoo’s vision was beginning to grow cloudy and his thoughts were spinning. He attempts to ground himself again but nothing in the room was helping. The walls were painted a dull gray and his nose wasn’t picking up on a distinct scent. Wonwoo shuts his eyes to help him perceive anything.

He was fine just a few minutes ago. What happened? 

Wonwoo didn’t want to sit around and find out. He could feel himself losing an internal battle he couldn’t win. He had to get out of there, run back to his dorm, and slip under the covers-

“Jeon.”

A sound. He heard it as clear as day.

Wonwoo slowly peels his eyes open to see Junhui crouched in front of him, one hand on Wonwoo’s knee and the other tipping Wonwoo’s chin to connect their eyes. He hadn’t realized how glassy his vision was until he wiped the tears away from his eyes.

His senses slowly regain control. Junhui’s sweet scent filled his nose and Wonwoo could feel the warmth of Junhui’s touch on his knees where Junhui was rubbing soft circles along the expanse. The color of Junhui’s eyes were a stark contrast to the lifeless room. The concern written all over Junhui’s face made the hair on Wonwoo’s skin crawl. All he needed was a sound-

“Are you okay?” There it was again. Junhui’s voice. Wonwoo heard it as clear and crisp as he possibly could. 

Wonwoo nods in reply, meaning every affirmative motion. He clasps around the guitar that was slowly inching off his lap and sits with a more erect posture.

The worry on Junhui’s face transforms into one of relief and he makes his way back to the piano. “I’ll go first.” Junhui stretches his fingers in preparation and gets into position.

Jisoo gives Junhui the go-signal to proceed, and the song begins almost explosively.

Wonwoo is miles away from being a piano virtuoso, his limited knowledge on the instrument based on the classical pieces he has saved on his study playlist, but he didn’t have to be an expert to conclude that Junhui knew how to play the piano well.

Junhui picks up on a rhythm as the piece opens, catching the beat of every short staccato and pronouncing notes at certain portions with precision. The song progresses from exciting to more melodic as the notes connect themselves. Junhui glides across the piano with ease and agility, empowered with a focus that Wonwoo had never seen on the older.

The tempo rises again, and the repetitive triplets climb up to their climax. Wonwoo can’t help but bite down on his lips in anticipation. Junhui’s hands graze over one another as they quickly shift from the left to the right following the rhythm. Junhui’s eyebrows furrow as the final notes are played with a sustained effect. The small audience offers Junhui a brief applause and discuss something among themselves.

Wonwoo turns to look at Junhui, finding the latter was already glancing over at him. He offers a short thumbs up and Junhui offers a proud bow from the piano. 

Jeonghan clears his throat to get their attention. “So, whenever you’re ready, Wonwoo.”

Wonwoo immediately tenses up at the words and the wave of embarrassment makes him flush a deep red. He rights his position once more and tentatively curls his fingers. Before he starts, he takes one last deep breath and spares a peek at Junhui who gives him a supportive smile in return. It was Wonwoo’s now-or-never moment.

His calloused fingers connect with the metal strings on specific places, forming the necessary notes and gently inching his way into the song. The movements were guided by his muscle memory, weaving him through the sequential thumb-to-finger patterns. Wonwoo chose a song he memorized a long time ago, _Through the Night_.

It was the song that made him fall in love with the guitar ever since he caught his mom playing it late one night. Wonwoo was still an elementary student at the time, poking out of his bed to drink a glass of milk to ease himself back to sleep. As the refrigerator door slipped shut, he heard a melody from the front porch. When he walked up to investigate, Wonwoo recognized his mother plucking at the strings of her old guitar. She was humming the harmony and her voice seemed melancholic. She sat beside a piece of incense that was shrinking to ash and a bed of wildflowers of every variant.

Even with just one eye to witness his mother play, Wonwoo could never forget the scene playing before him. She looked hauntingly beautiful in the somber of the evening. It was the first time he saw his mother cry.

And it wasn’t the motherly tears of joy she saved up for when Wonwoo advanced a grade level or the remorseful tears she shed when she had to scold Wonwoo for misbehaving. It was her own private tears, the most genuine of their kind. The ones she kept when her emotions overflowed but could never show in front of her son. 

Because mothers always had to be strong. They weren’t allowed to show signs of vulnerability, especially in front of their children. So, Wonwoo never mentioned what he saw that night and made his way back to his room undetected.

Thinking back on it now, Wonwoo realizes that it was the first Christmas they spent together after his dad had passed away.

Wonwoo keeps his eyes closed throughout his audition, recalling every detail of the memory. The way his mother held the guitar so close to her heart, the grasp of her fingers on the rusting metal, and her mellifluous voice resounding in their house. It was the best way to embody the song.

When the song comes to an end, he finally opens his eyes to face the small audience in front of him. They were whispering words between them with Jisoo mediating the hushed conversation. A handful of nods are shared before they face Wonwoo again.

Jisoo is the first to speak. “I didn’t know you could sing, Wonwoo.”

_What_?

The girl seated beside Jisoo raises her hand to garner their attention. “You have a rich baritone voice with a solid bass foundation. It was a welcome surprise, honestly,” she comments, earning supportive nods from the other members. 

“And here I thought you were just auditioning to be an instrumentalist,” Jeonghan teases, leaning back on his chair.

“Um,” Wonwoo sputters while he tries to recount what had happened. He doesn’t remember much of what had just transpired, let alone recall if he ever opened his mouth to form any words. All that pops up in his memory is his mom and the song that belonged to her.

“It’s fine, Wonwoo,” Jeonghan assures him, probably sensing Wonwoo’s inner conflict. “We’ll just focus on the instrumental part of your audition, if you’d prefer that.”

Wonwoo is quick to nod in reply. He feels like he had exhausted his approved word limit for the day. Although most of them came out when he didn’t even know they were.

He looks over to where Junhui is settled by the piano. Junhui is gaping at him with an expression Wonwoo couldn’t quite read from where he was seated. When their eyes connect for what feels like the millionth time that day, Junhui swiftly looks back down at the keys.

“The committee will review your audition and post the results on the bulletin board.” Jisoo puts on his business face and his gaze grows serious. “Until then, don’t hold your breath.”

Jeonghan brings a hand to his mouth to hide his words from Jisoo and whisper-shouts, “Though you guys are totally in.”

Jisoo rolls his eyes at the declaration but flashes a gentle smile, nonetheless. “You two can go. Thank you for auditioning!”

When they both exit their building, they are greeted with a late purple sunset sprouting into the dark blue evening. Students are strolling past them and the sidewalk lamps suddenly burst into life. Wonwoo doesn’t fail to notice how Junhui is standing closer to him again, the latter’s hand coming to rest on Wonwoo’s shoulder a few seconds later.

The warmth of Junhui’s hold is a surprising yet familiar sensation on Wonwoo’s skin. Wonwoo thinks he would gladly throw away his bubble protocol if Junhui’s touch alone was strong enough to soothe his jitters like it did during his audition.

Although he couldn’t pinpoint why it worked the way it did. Wonwoo makes a mental note to Google it later.

“Hey,” Junhui pauses before continuing, “you did well in there, Jeon.”

Wonwoo whips his head to look at him, trying to scan Junhui’s face now that he’s closer. All Wonwoo can gather is the slightest color on the apples of Junhui’s cheeks, though it may just be from the brisk breeze passing by. 

A sense of appreciation bubbles in his chest, the memory of Junhui’s support in his audition planting a flag in his cerebrum. “You, too,” he responds, his voice close to a whisper. The smile growing on Wonwoo’s face was impossible to hide so he turns to face the buildings they cross on their way back to the dorm.

The flat line on Junhui’s lips curl upwards at that. He reaches inside his jacket pocket and pulls out a covert tangerine. Wonwoo would scoff at the item, but he’s gotten used to all of Junhui’s random snacks at this point that the fruit seemed mundane.

So, when Junhui removes the fleshy exterior and offers a piece to him, Wonwoo doesn’t hesitate to take a bite and nestles himself a little closer to Junhui’s hold, hoping the older wouldn’t mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am still alive. ٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶
> 
> I do apologize if this chapter took longer than expected! It was actually sitting in my computer for over a week, but I held back from posting it to progress with the next chapter.
> 
> A short status report: chapter 5 is in the works and is near half-way through!!! Not too exciting but I hope to push it out by next week, along with progress on chapter 6. I swear there is a plot in this story. =͟͟͞͞(꒪ᗜ꒪ ‧̣̥̇) I haven't been in the best place mentally and emotionally so, it was quite difficult for me to write down fluff and plot... but things are looking up and I am back on the writing train!!! Thank you for being patient with this train wreck of a writer. °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°
> 
> Stay safe and see you all again (hopefully) very soon!
> 
> P.S. The chapter titles themselves are fairly innocuous since neurotransmitters have a million functions beyond the one I intend them to symbolize. The major chapters will have more obvious references to them! c:


	5. GABA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Celianne, my bestfriend and constant source of motivation. I don't know where I would be today if we never crossed paths. Your faith in me moves mountains and I cannot be more thankful for you. Happy 10 years of blissful friendship.
> 
> This chapter is for you.
> 
> P.S. I don't know why this chapter is so long... but I hope you can enjoy the contents especially with my tardiness. *hides to avoid a beating* (∩︵∩)

“ _Wonwoo sweetie, I mean this in the most motherly and loving way possible, but you are kind of a prude_.”

“Mom!” Wonwoo half-screams as he suddenly remembers Junhui sleeping behind him. He bitterly spins the spoon in his mug, stirring in the leaves slowly being infused into the hot water.

It would be nice to say that it was quiet Saturday morning. That the birds were chirping melodically in the distance. That the daylight filtering into the room glowed and reflected in a charming manner. That Soonyoung, who was surprisingly a morning person, and his absence helped in mellowing out the early start of what would be a lengthy day.

But Wonwoo lives in the city now which automatically negates any possible beauty in the weekend.

Replace the birds with sirens, the daylight with air pollution, and Soonyoung’s upbeat demeanor that greets him in the morning with Junhui’s brash snoring that woke him up in the first place and one can imagine the joy running through Wonwoo’s veins.

His mother called him in the middle of his morning tea and, while he felt reluctant to answer a phone call so early in the day, he felt guilty for not contacting his mom as often as he had promised. While Wonwoo enjoyed hearing the smooth and firm tone of his mom’s voice, he was so engrossed in keeping up with his academic requirements that the thought of reaching out slipped out of attention. 

And then there was the first-year welcoming party that he couldn’t get out of his system. As much as Wonwoo tried to downplay the events of the approaching evening, Soonyoung had absentmindedly made sure to pin the thought in the depths of his memory.

Aside from the occasional nudge on his shoulder or sifting through Chungha’s and Seulgi’s social media profile with him, Soonyoung excitedly left the night before to pick up his outfit for the party from his house. 

And then there were the notes. They were everywhere – inside Wonwoo’s book pretending to be a bookmark, beside Wonwoo’s pillow, on top of the lunch Junhui had packed for him. Each one had a different catchphrase or pick-up line written down to remind Wonwoo of the commitment he made for his roommate.

Needless to say, Wonwoo’s thick skin against Soonyoung’s begging completely melted away when the last note he received read, ‘ _I hope this doesn’t give you any paws, but I am litter-ally excited for the paw-ty on Saturday. I have a good feline that it will be a purr-fect night_!’ followed by a shockingly accurate drawing of a kitten with glasses. The guy knew him too well.

Which brings Wonwoo back to the phone call with his mom. In a desperate attempt to escape from the leash that was that evening’s festivities, he did the one thing any reasonable and independent twenty-year-old university student would do in the face of his responsibility for a friend.

Ask his mother for permission to attend the party.

“ _Don’t pout, bean. I think this is a good thing for you; it’s part of the healthy university experience, isn’t it_?”

“I think you’ve been watching too many TV shows, mom.” Wonwoo runs a hand through his bedhead hair in disgruntlement. This call was not going in the direction he intended. “Plus, I don’t want the ‘university experience.’ It’s overrated, poorly executed, and has too many clichés wrapped around it.”

“ _See, this is why you’re a prude, Wonwoo_.” When Wonwoo inhales with disbelief, his mom laughs from her end of the line. “ _Come on now, sweetie. Parties like this don’t happen a lot and I promise you that you will regret sitting it out like I know you’re planning to_.”

Wonwoo sighs. He hates how people can read him so easily.

“ _Listen, I’m not imposing anything on you. You have every right to sit this out if you want to and I won’t hold it against you_.” The line grows silent for a second with Junhui’s piercing snores filling in the gap. “ _But I didn’t go to college, so I never had the chance to experience any of the things you have at your fingertips. All I’m saying is that maybe you should grab the opportunity while it’s there, yeah_?”

Wonwoo doesn’t like to think about it, but between the two of them, his mother was definitely the more adventurous one.

She would spend many evenings at Uncle Youngho’s house playing some card game and getting buzzed on a bottle of soju or makgeolli that she had developed an innate tolerance for, all the while Wonwoo was cooped up at home reading another book from his collection.

His Auntie Chanmi used to come over all the time to tell Wonwoo all about his mother’s escapades as a youth. How she was a free spirit who followed the beat of her own drum. How no one could tell her what to do or what to wear or when to show up to an event. How no one expected her to get married at such a young age to a complete stranger.

Wonwoo doesn’t remember much about his dad, more so the relationship he shared with his mom. All his memory can jog up was the fact that his dad was a nine-to-five laborer who was a part of the farmer’s union. His mom had described him as the kind of person who would probably die from slaving away on the fields because of his dedication to his work.

Which he did, eventually.

Whenever Wonwoo would ask about his dad, his mom would keep her answers curt and to the point. He could tell the thought of his father’s passing hurt her in a way he could never understand, but his dad’s photos still lay nailed on the walls and the portrait from their wedding still greeted him in their living room each day, and that was more than enough for him. It was the closest he would get to knowing his dad and he would take any amount that he could get.

“B-but what if the other kids make me drink too much?” Wonwoo pleads one last time. A futile attempt, really.

“ _I’m pretty sure I raised you well enough so that you grew immune to peer pressure_ ,” she gloats. “ _Just stick with your friends and you should be fine, sweetie_.”

“You know I never thought I would live to see the day that my own mother would actually support my journey into inebriation and alcoholism,” Wonwoo frowns even though his mom can’t see it. He leans his head back on the seat to search for support from the popcorn ceiling.

“ _Well, you can’t be a killjoy forever, dear_.”

“Hey, I am a delight to be with!” Wonwoo defends.

“ _And you are, sweetie, but there’s nothing wrong with a little buzz to loosen up the reigns, you know_?”

“There are a thousand things wrong with alcohol and, after tonight, I’ll make a list to prove it.”

His mom gasps. “ _So, you’re going_?”

“Yes,” Wonwoo murmurs, defeated. “But if something happens, I will come back to haunt you. Not in a scare-the-crap-out-of-you kind of way, but more of the moving-things-when-your-back-is-turned-away sort-of thing.”

“ _Don’t be so overdramatic, bean. Now, tell me what you’re going to wear_.” The tone of her voice grows excited like she’s a child playing dress-up with her dolls. Which she most probably is, Wonwoo being the doll.

Wonwoo takes a moment to reconsider. He hadn’t thought about the technicalities of the evening since he was so hellbent on skipping. 

Now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t have any article of clothing that could be considered an ‘outfit of the night.’

“Can’t I just wear what I usually wear?” He responds and earns an immediate veto from his mom.

“ _Of course not! Haven’t you ever heard of dressing to impress? I thought you had that class before where you had to dress up in a suit and tie and go on a job interview or something_.”

Wonwoo chokes on his now cold tea. “These are two completely different scenarios. One would land me a job and the other…” Wonwoo didn’t want to know what he would get if he was able to impress Seulgi enough this evening. The thought alone made him want to douse himself with his tea.

“ _At least wear one of the new outfits you bought for yourself_.” When the line goes quiet, she adds, “ _You did go shopping, right_?” Another beat of silence. “ _Jeon Wonwoo…_ ”

“About that…” Wonwoo chuckles nervously as he scratches the back of his neck.

His mom sighs on her end of the line. “ _I’m listening_.” She has _that_ voice on again and Wonwoo knows he has some explaining to do.

Truth of the matter is, Wonwoo does not know how to shop for himself. His wardrobe is the amalgamation of hand-me-downs from his dad, his mom’s several successes at sewing, and the weekend market’s buy-one-take-one sale blended through the same plaid conversion machine (Wonwoo doesn’t know how almost all his clothes have a plaid design on them, but they just do and he isn’t complaining).

“You know I suck at shopping so, if you think about it, this is really your fault for setting me up for this Herculean task,” Wonwoo suggests.

“ _Repeat that one more time but_ slowly.”

Wonwoo brings his knees to his chest, curling himself into a ball on the chair. He already knows he hasn’t been making sense for a while now, but his filter isn’t quite awake yet. “I’m sorry. I just don’t know the first thing about what tops go with what bottoms or clothing color theory or which accessories to put on-“

“ _It’s okay, sweetie_ ,” she implores, gently. “ _I’m not mad, alright? How about you ask one of your friends to help you? You said they were good people and I’m fairly certain good people help their friends. How does that sound_?”

“Isn’t that kind of embarrassing? It’s like I’m a five-year-old who can’t pick out their own clothes,” Wonwoo pouts.

“ _And you will always be that adorable bean in my eyes, sweetie_.” Wonwoo groans but it goes ignored. “ _I’m sure at least one of them has a_ decent _fashion sense. Why not ask them_?”

One person immediately comes to mind, the person in question with enough stylish button downs and tight-fitting shirts to make Wonwoo slap himself for staring. Though Wonwoo’s not sure if the apparel actually appeals to his taste or just the owner’s collarbone that always peaks out.

But that person will never let him live down the fact that he needs a helping hand in picking out a shirt of all things. And that person is also deep in their own slumber, although the snoring stopped a few minutes ago. 

Wait. _The snoring stopped_?

Wonwoo was about to turn to face Junhui when the latter swipes the phone out of Wonwoo’s grip and stands by the kitchenette. He would jump into action to retrieve his phone, but both of his legs have fallen asleep near his chest almost on cue. 

The universe was funny like that.

“Hello, Mrs. Jeon,” Junhui singsongs as he rubs his bird’s nest. Someone actually beat Wonwoo’s travesty of a bedhead.

“Hyung, give back the phone,” Wonwoo demands as he extends his hand and motions for Junhui to return the phone. “Please…?” Junhui tilts his head with a smug grin on his face. Looks like begging was a bust.

Mercifully, Junhui put the phone on speaker. “ _Why hello there. Are you one of Wonwoo’s roommates_?”

Wonwoo yells from his seat and tries to bring life to his calves. “No, mom! That man is a serial killer intent on killing me and, if you care about my safety, you will drop the call and call the police.”

Junhui slumps his shoulders and makes an unimpressed face, the circles around his eyes magnifying his listlessness. From his phone, Wonwoo could hear his mom snickering. _Talk about concern_!

“ _So, which one are you? Are you the human mitochondria or the shockingly hand-_ ”

“NO NO NO! LALALALALA,” Wonwoo yodels from his seat, cupping his ears from his mother’s blatant betrayal.

Junhui’s smug grin grows impossibly arrogant. “I guess I would be the shockingly handsome one.” Wonwoo crosses his arms and looks away with a humph, rethinking his past conversation with his mom and his poor adjective choices.

“ _Okay, shockingly handsome. I’m sure a charming man like you knows how to dress up. Take my son shopping, would you? He has a date tonight_.” His mom’s voice is playful and mischievous and Wonwoo kind of hates her right now. Only kind of.

At that, Junhui raises an eyebrow suggestively. “A date, huh? Little Wonwon never told me anything about a date.”

“That’s because it’s not a date!” Wonwoo opposes.

“ _Oh, you kids and your fancy schmancy terminology. Wonwoo sweetie’s going to meet a girl tonight and he needs new clothes. Preferably ones that don’t scream provincial boy-next-door_.”

“Well, I would gladly help your son, Mrs. Jeon.” Junhui’s voice is still gravelly from sleep and its depth should not be charming (but it is, god dammit).

His mom lightly scoffs on her end, almost like she was brushing something off. “ _Please, call me ‘Jiyeon’_.” 

“And you can call me Junhui, Auntie Jiyeon. I’ll make sure Wonwon is all dapper and ready for his date later.” Wonwoo mouths the word ‘kiss-ass’ which does not go unnoticed. “Also, your son just called me a kiss-ass.”

“Tattletale!” Wonwoo gasps and crosses his arms even further.

His mom laughs from her end of the line. “ _Don’t worry, Junhui sweetie. He got his potty mouth from me_.” Wonwoo can’t believe Junhui’s only been on the phone with his mom for a few minutes and he’s already earned the ‘sweetie’ status. “ _Now, I’ve got to run so you kids get to it, alright? Junhui, I want pictures of what you pick out for Wonwoo_.”

“Aye aye, ahjumma!” Junhui salutes even though Jiyeon can’t see it.

“ _You’re a good kid, Junhui sweetie_.” Wonwoo swears she’s cooing at this point. “ _Now, can you hand the phone back to my son_?”

Junhui is quick to comply, ruffling Wonwoo’s hair before he plops back down on his pullout bed.

“ _You’ve got interesting roommates, bean_ ,” his mom says when Wonwoo has his phone (finally) back in his hands.

Wonwoo groans and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Interesting is a generous term, mom.”

“ _And you know I’m a generous woman_.” If she were there with him, she would be pinching his cheeks right now. Wonwoo can feel the ghost of her fingers on his cheek. “ _You be good now, alright? Be responsible and safe_ ,” her voice means business and it takes Wonwoo by surprise. “ _Remember what I taught you_.”

“I will, mom.” Wonwoo pushes up the frame of his glasses from where it was slipping from his nose. “And really, thank you for looking out for me.” He meant every word despite the unexpected turn of events the morning brought. Even when his mom called him a prude.

“ _Aww, my little sap. I only have your best interests at heart though some of them are pretty lame_.”

“Ugh, didn’t you say you have somewhere to run off to?” Wonwoo feigns annoyance to mask the fact that he misses the lighthearted banter with his mom. She was his first best friend and there’s a comfort that comes with her presence that Wonwoo can’t fully fathom.

“ _Pushing me away again, huh? Tell me, are you a resentful pubescent teenager all over again, Wonwoo_?” she giggles then clears her throat. “ _I love you, sweetie. Don’t forget to say your prayers. Call me again when you can_.”

“I will, mom. Love you, too.” They share a brief adieu before Wonwoo hangs up. He lays his head on the cool of the table and he tries to drown his guilt with the smell of week-old ramen (he should really wipe down this table soon). Wonwoo knows he should call his mom more often, but a tiny part of him can’t get over his irrational fear of phone calls.

The moment is short lived as Wonwoo spots Junhui making a sly face from where he’s lying down on his bed. One of Junhui’s hands is lifted and situated on top of his forehead, revealing a part of Junhui’s flat plane of skin on his abdomen. Wonwoo can feel his breathing hitch by the slightest fraction.

“What?”

“Shockingly handsome, huh?” Junhui teases.

 _Shit_. Wonwoo gulps the embarrassment down his throat. “Yeah, it was either that or Captain Beehive.” Wonwoo gestures to Junhui’s atrocious hair. “Take your pick.”

“They say not everyone can understand a masterpiece,” Junhui shrugs. He gets on his feet, ties his hair into a manbun, and paces towards the stove. “Now, you wash up while I make us breakfast.” He reaches down for a frying pan and turns on the heat of the induction stove.

Wonwoo shakes his head from his spot on the table. “Don’t wanna.” 

Junhui arms himself with a spatula, cracks two eggs into a pan, and faces Wonwoo. “Come on, Auntie Jiyeon asked me to take you shopping and I don’t want to disappoint her.”

“She can’t hear you, you know? No need to be such a goodie-goodie.” Wonwoo glares at him, surprised the older had a need to impress his superiors.

“You’re being a brat right now but I’m going to let it slide. Now, we have a lot of ground to cover if we’re going to get you ready for the party, so I’m giving you five seconds to get into the shower,” Junhui points the spatula at Wonwoo and continues, “or else.”

Wonwoo sits up and tilts his head in inquiry. “Or else what?” he challenges. 

Junhui resumes his cooking. “One.”

“What are you doing?”

“Two,” Junhui calls out while flipping an egg.

Wonwoo makes a noncommittal sound. “Hyung, you can’t seriously be-“

“Three.”

“Okay, you can stop right there-“

Junhui’s voice comes out like a threat, “Four.”

And with that, Wonwoo dashes into the shower, leaving a smug Junhui looking very pleased with himself.

“Looking good, Jeon Wonwoo,” Soonyoung whistles at him when they convene in the dorm. “Nice work, Jun.”

“My finest work, if I do say so myself,” Junhui boasts as he unbuttons the topmost junction of Wonwoo’s shirt. 

Wonwoo looks, feels, and most probably is stupid. He’s wearing a striped button-down shirt with black skinny jeans that are tight enough to cut off his blood circulation. In his entire twenty years of living, he’s never known an outfit that would purposefully be punctured at different sites for the sake of fashion. And to add insult to injury ( _seriously, he was losing the feeling in his legs from how taut the jeans were around his thighs_ ), Wonwoo had to wear two belts to keep up his jeans that were two sizes too large because the smaller and more appropriate sizes for Wonwoo’s waistline were too short around the cuffs. 

He had no idea how haut couture worked or functioned, but he knows now why ‘fashion’ is spelled with an ‘f’ and not a ‘p’. Because there is absolutely no practicality in what he was wearing, only utter foolishness.

Shopping with Junhui was mercifully bearable. They took the train to Hongdae where Wonwoo was greeted with a barrage of local boutiques and perky vendors trying to strike a deal. Everything was vibrant and alive and bustling with glistening pigments and clothes racks filled with faux designer items. 

Junhui seemed acquainted with the environment, in complete control of their direction and pacing as they passed by store after store in search of Wonwoo’s new wardrobe. Wonwoo wanted to argue that he didn’t have the money to afford whatever Junhui picked out for him, but the items turned out to be cheaper than expected. Added to his growing list of nonexistent excuses was the fact his mom wired in more cash for his spending escapades. It wasn’t a large sum considering how his mom was the only one garnering proper income now, but it was enough to purchase an assortment of casual shirts and several pairs of pants.

The afternoon consisted of Junhui pushing Wonwoo into a dressing room and tossing in outfit after outfit like some flash-based dress-up game. For most of the afternoon, Wonwoo allowed himself to be manhandled by his roommate with every new item presented to him. All until Junhui walked in on Wonwoo in nothing but his briefs. From there, boundaries were set. 

Wonwoo had to admit that he did enjoy a few of the items Junhui had picked out for him. While Wonwoo initially gravitated towards his usual instincts of plaid-printed clothing, Junhui grabbed him by the ear to revitalize his style with graphic tees and stripes. It was a welcome change, nothing too otherworldly but sufficient to notice the difference in his style. His mom was quick to comment on their choices and gave the clear thumbs-up on the items she particularly liked.

Equipped in his new attire and the growing feeling of dread in his chest, Wonwoo was more than ready to yank the outfit off his skin and slip under the sheets in his looser clothes. But like most decisions in his adult life, there was no turning back now.

“Usually, you dress up like the fantasy of a middle-aged American businessman with a dark, specific fetish, but I actually dig this new look on you,” Junhui expresses while giving Wonwoo’s outfit one final rundown, earning a boisterous laugh from Soonyoung. 

Junhui is dressed up in a plain white shirt with a denim jacket over it, giving him a James Dean vibe. Meanwhile, Soonyoung left all his guns out in the open with an oversized tank top and sinfully tight jeans. The longer Wonwoo looks at them both, the greater the difference he can sense in their tastes in apparel. 

“Gee, thanks,” Wonwoo deadpans.

Soonyoung regains his bearings and wipes a stray tear of joy from his eye. “But seriously, you look amazing, Wonwoo. Seulgi is a lucky girl.” Soonyoung bops his nose with a finger.

Wonwoo is quick to swat away Soonyoung’s finger and sighs. “Can we just go, please?”

After meeting up with Jihoon in front of their dorm, the group sets off for the university dormitories.

There’s an uncommon ambience that falls upon the university the moment the sun tucks itself for the evening. Like being able to explore the campus after hours brings a thrill to the experience as if experiencing it for the first time all over again. Suddenly, the busy hallways become endless tunnels to far-off worlds and the staircases morph into haunted houses. The entire ordeal is blood-tingling and brimming with excitement. 

This night in particular presents itself similarly. While the university maintains its dim overcoat, the rise in population fills the environment with life. In the distance, the university hymn is softly playing as the inauguration ceremonies come to a close. The students on campus have taken it upon themselves to flock to the university dormitories like moths to a very alcoholic flame. While most of the people walking seem to be on the road to complete intoxication, the few unknowing students who attended the afternoon’s celebration look as if they had their souls sucked out of them due to boredom.

The university dormitories are styled like the remaining buildings on campus so much so that one could easily mistake them as a college building. Already, loud music is blasting from every floor, the windows to several rooms open wide as questionable smoke clears out of them. The sight alone is enough to entice Wonwoo to bolt but, with Junhui’s hold on him, there was no escape. 

“Which room are we even going to?” Wonwoo questions as they enter one of the dormitory buildings. As soon as his eyes adjust to the bright lights of the corridors, Wonwoo notes numerous bodies making casual conversations over red solo cups. “It kind of looks like a free-for-all out here,” he adds, dipping his head down to dodge a ball being thrown overhead.

Junhui intercepts, throwing the ball down with a shrug after the players protest. “Mingyu invited us to the party in his room.” 

The mention of his name sends tingles down Wonwoo’s spine, raising the hair on his skin. Junhui is the first to notice his apprehension, Soonyoung way ahead of the pair greeting everyone he comes across and Jihoon merely whistling to the party music from a room over.

“You still have that thing with him?” Wonwoo furrows his eyebrows in confusion, not quite sure what the other was insinuating. Junhui chuckles in response, waving a hand in dismissal. “You know what I mean. I just want to say that he’s cool, nothing to get your wits about.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just that…” He tries to complete the thought but even he doesn’t know how he wants it to end. Up to this point, Wonwoo hasn’t come to a clear conclusion as to why he felt the need to avoid Mingyu like the plague. So, when Junhui stares at him, waiting for him to finish his sentence, he follows up with, “Nothing.”

Shockingly, Junhui doesn’t push the issue and offers a short rub on Wonwoo’s shoulder from where the former’s arm is attached. “It’ll be fine, Wonwoo. Maybe you can try focusing on having a good night, instead. How does that sound?”

“I guess,” He murmurs, feeling no more confident than he was a few moments ago. 

After three flights of stairs and past a couple of doors, the group comes up to Mingyu’s door. Soonyoung excitedly rushes in, foregoing the need to knock, and is greeted with a rambunctious cheer from the inside. Immediately, the heat and pounding music rushes out and bombards Wonwoo’s senses, a stark contrast to the chilly autumn evening. 

The first thing that Wonwoo concludes from a brief scan of the dorm room is that it is _huge_. With mere estimates alone, Wonwoo can make out that he can fit about five or more rooms from his dorm in the two-bedroom suite where he currently stands. To his immediate right, a kitchen is situated with actual countertop space that is littered with a variety of colored glass bottles. As Junhui continues to pull him forward, he can spot a living room set haphazardly arranged in the center as guests circle the space. 

He passes by Seokmin at the entrance hall who greets him with a hasty hug before returning to this conversation with Yuna. Beside him, Minghao was shifting the gears on his digital camera, sending a welcoming gesture to Wonwoo and sharing a handshake with Junhui. He can identify a few more of the faces in the room, some he’s seen in the classes he attends and others he has only seen in passing.

Just as Wonwoo was about to rush for a corner to meld, Soonyoung pulled him by the arm to turn him around.

“Wonwoo, look!” Soonyoung drags along two women into sight. “This is Chungha and Seulgi,” he points to them each and nods animatedly. He turns to address the clueless man, clapping a rather harsh hand on his shoulder blade, “And this is Wonwoo!”

The women resemble one another, both with long, salon-pressed, jet black hair, but Chungha has rounder cheeks and fuller eyes to her while Seulgi was full of points and edges. She seemed like the kind of person who could pierce his skin with a simple gaze, but she cracks a gentle smile in introduction.

“It’s nice to finally meet you in person,” Seulgi remarks, tipping her cup in regards. “Soonyoung has told us so much about you.”

Wonwoo barely nods in acknowledgement, still in the early stages of denial that the party was an actual thing materializing in front of him. He senses the loss of Junhui’s hand on his shoulder, the latter crossing his arms and gesturing with his eyes for Wonwoo to say something concrete to his date.

Luckily, an excited Soonyoung comes to the rescue and ushers the small group to sit down on the unoccupied couch. As Wonwoo squeezes into the end of the chair, with Seulgi to his right, Junhui grabs his wrist to earn his attention.

“I’m going to go grab a drink; you think you’ll be okay here?” He motions to Seulgi who was striking up a conversation with Jihoon.

Wonwoo wants to say that he is definitely _not_ okay with the entire situation, that he needs the older to guide him through the intricacies of romantically inclined social interaction, and that he might just need to down an entire bottle of questionable alcohol to survive the evening, but he says none of that.

Because it was absolutely ludicrous in his opinion. He is a twenty-year-old college student; he should be capable of holding his ground in these circumstances.

With great reluctance, Wonwoo releases a sharp exhale and shakes his head. The hold on his wrist falters and Junhui’s hand slowly grazes his fingers, the slightest of touches reinforcing him with blanketed encouragement. “Good luck, Wonwoo. Take care, alright?” With a short salute to the group, Junhui makes his way into the kitchen.

Now, he was left with the problem at hand – actually talking to Seulgi. For the time being, she seems engrossed in her chat with Jihoon who, for once, seems interested to reply to a being that wasn’t his mobile device.

So, Wonwoo waits patiently on his end of the couch, shifting his weight towards the armrest and taking another scan of the room. The cream-colored walls are tainted with a purple neon glow and a couple of bodies are huddled around the center of the room for a game of spin-the-bottle. 

The suite reminds Wonwoo more of an upscale apartment than a student’s quarters given its size and the contents. Behind him, a landscape painting of horses trotting in a field hangs high. A row of potted Ficus plants are aligned by the exterior wall, a decorated coffee table adorned with novelty figurines near the corner. Another visual examination reveals the two bedrooms to his left, the corridor full of people grinding inappropriately against one another.

His stupor is broken when the owner of the nearby room exits their chambers; the last person Wonwoo wants to see right now. 

Soonyoung breaks away from caressing Chungha’s hand and calls Mingyu over. “Hey, it’s the man of the hour!” The two connect their biceps in a friendly exchange of testosterone. “Your place looks amazing.”

“Thanks, dude.” Mingyu smiles at the compliment, flashing his canines with the curve of his lips. “Glad you could come tonight. It sucks you couldn’t come with the guys last Monday.”

“And you still owe me a lifetime supply of chocolate bars for that,” Soonyoung demands, slipping an arm around Chungha’s shoulder to tug her closer. She seems more than willing to oblige, resting her head on Soonyoung’s biceps with a cozy groan. At least it was smooth sailing for him, Wonwoo thinks.

Mingyu chuckles at the proposition. “I’ll give you a KitKat bar every day until we graduate, how does that sound?”

“It better be the one with four wafers or it doesn’t count,” Soonyoung emphasizes while pointing at the younger. “Where’s your roommate? I’ve never met the guy.”

“I’m sure Eunwoo is around here somewhere.” Mingyu cranes his neck around to search for his roommate, weaving through the crowd until he realizes the remaining company on the couch. When their eyes meet, Wonwoo’s blood runs cold, and he promptly places his hands on his lap like a behaved middle school student. Maybe the situation would have been less awkward if he wasn’t intently listening in on their conversation.

Their exchange has a similar effect on Mingyu if the visible stiffening of his muscles were to indicate anything. Mingyu does an indiscrete once-over of the older, mouth slowly growing agape. Wonwoo thinks he witnesses Mingyu swallow a lump in his throat, but it could just be the strobe lights beaming around the room. Suddenly, Mingyu adjusts the flaps of his button-down, dusting off nonexistent dust from the fabric, and returns to staring straight into Wonwoo’s eyes.

Soonyoung, who has a penchant for never being able to smell the air, cuts the ice. “You see him yet?”

Mingyu shakes his head rapidly, like he was denying an accusation. He turns his attention away from Wonwoo to address the blonde. “I guess he’s not here right now, probably out with his boyfriend,” Mingyu suspects as he begins to nibble on his fingernails. 

It was Soonyoung’s turn to tense up, choking on his drink while Chungha rubs circles on his back. The coughing fit becomes harsher, enough for Jihoon to look over with concern.

“Are you alright, Soonie?” Chungha asks, one hand rubbing circles on Soonyoung’s scapula and the other reaching for the drink in the latter’s hands. “I can fetch you some water if you need it.”

Just as Chungha was about to stand up, Soonyoung softly latches onto her wrists to stop her. His breathing begins to even out and the blush on his face fades. “It’s fine, I’m alright,” he pants through the words, still troubled from the fit. “It went down the wrong pipe, that’s all.”

Chungha seems appeased at his words, bringing her hand to spoon Soonyoung to maintain the soothing motions on his back. The actions make Soonyoung light up, snuggling closer into the former’s embrace with a chuckle. 

Seeing the situation contained and dealt with, Mingyu clears his throat and says, “Well, I should make sure no one’s spiking the drinks with anything funny. I’ll, uh, see you guys later.” He takes one last glance at Wonwoo, causing a series of chemical reactions to spur in the latter’s stomach, and bolts for the kitchen.

“Okay, bye,” Soonyoung waves to the ghost of Mingyu standing before them. “That was odd.”

“I think it’s hospitable of him. He’s looking out for the guests; that’s what a good host would do in my books,” Chungha comments, combing the stray locks of blonde hair by Soonyoung’s nape.

 _Well, I think it’s weird_ , Wonwoo weighs in internally. Why was Mingyu acting strangely around him? It’s not exactly fair for Wonwoo to make such an assumption given his own atypical behavior towards the puppy, but the question was still floating in his head. Why did everything have to be uncomfortable around Mingyu?

Apparently, it was a question for a later date because a hand begins to wave in front of his dazed eyes. The hand belonging to his current ‘date’.

“Hey, Wonwoo,” Seulgi begins gingerly, twisting in her seat to examine him from all angles. “Are you okay?”

Wonwoo blinks his eyes rapidly. “Oh, yeah, um-“ he swallows a watermelon-sized morsel in his throat, trying to push out a coherent sentence, “I’m okay. How about you?”

“I’m perfectly dandy.” She presents the slightest of grins, her eyes forming crescents. “Are you enjoying the party?” She brings her knees towards her chest and locks them in with her arms. When a reply doesn’t come out of him, she giggles, “You looked like you were contemplating the secrets of the universe over there.”

“What?” His cheeks bloom pink at the suggestion. “No, I was just… there was a…”

Seulgi bumps his shoulder with her own at his flustered condition, her giggles still bubbling in her mouth. “I was kidding, you’re fun to tease.” Wonwoo pouts at the quip and she bundles up his cheek with a fond expression. “You’re all flesh and bones!”

Wonwoo replaces Seulgi’s hand for his own, cupping his cheek in self-defense. However, there wasn’t much to grab. _The woman’s got a point_ , he thinks but will never admit. “It’s not that bad.”

“It makes you look sharp, like a knife or a Lego brick.” Seulgi ponders. 

“A Lego brick?” He angles his head to augment his confusion. “Isn’t that the toy?”

Seulgi takes a sip from her cup, finishing the contents. “And a dangerous weapon. Have you ever stepped on one of those before?” Wonwoo shakes his head. “It’s like stepping on a thorn bush.”

He snickers at the reference, muffling the rest of his laughs with his knees close to his chest. It felt nice sitting like this beside a person who mirrored the action. Like they were in their own realm of existence and not in a fire hazard of a building where the thumping bass was strong enough to destroy the foundation.

She slowly turns her body to face him, situating her feet right next to his thigh. “I take it you’re not a big party person, either?”

Wonwoo is thrown off guard at the question, although it wasn’t exactly surprising. “What gave my ruse away?” he asks with a drip of sarcasm. He hides his trembling hands between his thighs and chest, constantly rubbing at the knuckles to calm them down.

“I guess you can call me an excellent judge of character,” she flaunts, fluttering her eyelashes shyly. “Plus, neither am I.”

“That makes two of us, then.” A hint of a grin crosses his face. He turns to face Seulgi, keeping his knees close to his person and barely grazing her feet with his own. From this angle, he spots a tiny sunflower necklace glimmering near her chest. Yellow really suits her, he thinks.

Seulgi responds with a smile of her own, exhaling as if she were holding a heavy weight on her shoulders. She leans in by a fraction and Wonwoo automatically recoils backwards, earning a giggle from the other. Instead of approaching, she cups her mouth to amplify her voice, “Do you want to play a game?”

Cocking an eyebrow, he examines her modest expression contrasted by her keen features. He hypothesizes that Seulgi is a baby who wears stilettos. “As long as you aren’t Jigsaw, I’m in,” he concurs.

With rounder cheeks, she explains, “The rules are simple: it’s essentially a round of icebreakers but with a twist.” She twirls a finger around, surprising Wonwoo with her enthusiasm. “We’re going to do it lightning round style, so you have to answer with the first thing that comes to mind. That way we get the most honest answers.” She presents her palms, expectant eyes meeting his as if she were sending mental signals.

He looks at the hands in front of him, trying to understand the social cue. Was he supposed to give her a high five for her exceptional suggestion?

When a few moments pass and the palms remain empty, she expounds, “We have to hold hands, so we know when the other person is lying! My roommates and I do this all the time whenever one of us lies about taking out the trash or watering the plants.”

Wonwoo’s eyes round out at the proposal. He felt slightly apprehensive about the icebreakers, so holding her hands made his stomach twist awkwardly. A courteous rejection was at the tip of his tongue when Seulgi all but reaches out for his hands and pads her thumbs on his palms. The suddenness of the motion causes him to blush furiously, heart rate dangerously climbing.

Given her fingers were close to a pulse point, Seulgi senses his jittery composure and offers a reassuring smile. “Is this alright with you? We can forego the handholding if that makes you more comfortable.”

His immediate response is to withdraw his hands in self-defense and to avoid her altogether, but a small piece of his subconscious hidden behind all his walls and masks comes alive. He’s made it this far, attending a party instead of reading the night away like he usually does, and Seulgi was a lovely person. Maybe it was time to invite foreign sensations into his system and observe the results.

There’s a slight tremble in his hands, but he steadies them as much as possible. “This is fine,” he replies with a meager grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Alright, here we go.” She grasps his hands tighter, sharing her warmth and comfort. “So, take a deep breath and clear your thoughts.”

“With how loud the music is, I don’t think I can hear my thoughts to begin with,” he quips with a raised voice to be heard above the commotion around the room.

She stifles a laugh at the remark, clearly aiming to be serious. “Okay, on the count of three: one, two, three. Low tides or high tides?”

“Low tides.” The answer popped out of his mouth right away, shocking him. 

Seulgi senses his awe and nods. “See, it’s magical,” she glistens, raising their shared hand. “And, I can tell if you’re lying or not. Now, it’s your turn!”

Still attempting to wrap his head about the game, he asks the obvious question. “Cats or dogs?”

“Dogs! No, wait. Puppies!” She shakes with excitement, radiating joy for her choice. “Can it be both dogs and puppies?”

He smiles at her reaction, nodding along. Who knew someone who looked so beautiful could be this adorable?

“And I can tell you’re a cat person.” Wonwoo tilts his head, wondering if he was releasing his cat pheromones again when she adds, “Like I said, I’m an excellent judge of character. My turn!” She ponders for a moment, looking left then right before a light bulb turns on. “Sunrises or sunsets?”

“Sunsets.” Again, the response is instantaneous.

“I respect your choice, even though sunrises are clearly the superior of the two.” He feigns exasperation at her retort but quickly replaces it with a smile of his own. Seulgi beams, “Keep going!”

Several lightning rounds reveal that Seulgi is a tea-loving modern dancer who spends her summers mountain climbing with her older brother who she would gladly punch squarely in the face for ten million won. Throughout the game, she would laugh at the unpredictability of both questions and answers, bobbing her head back and accidentally bumping into Chungha who would only laugh alongside her.

Wonwoo observes the way her eyes fall into slits when she smiles, puffing up her cheeks in the process. How she lights up whenever she discusses a topic she enjoys. How her bangs fall and accentuate her sharp features amidst her bubbly personality.

He wonders if his mom would be proud of him if he told her that he got the number of a pretty girl from the party and had a future date in his schedule. And the sudden thought can’t be helped, Seulgi is an attractive woman.

But he isn’t attracted to her in that way. He really wants to be, but he should know by now that his heart doesn’t play by society’s rules.

“Um, dine-in or take-out?”

Seulgi weighs her options for a moment before deciding, “Dine-in, I love to go out to eat. Beer or wine?”

“I don’t drink,” he admits.

Seulgi feels his pulse point and observes, “Oh, you’re not kidding. Not even a little?” Wonwoo shakes his head. “I’ve never met a college student who doesn’t drink, though it isn’t a requirement, of course. Is there a reason for your sobriety?”

Wonwoo purses his lips in thought. There was no particular rationale behind his aversion, just that he never had the opportunity to do such. He reveals this and she listens with earnest fascination.

“So, would you be opposed to having a taste then?” she asks casually, her vision flitting to a body on Wonwoo’s left. As if on cue, Jihoon (who Wonwoo didn’t even notice disappeared) approaches the couch with three red cups in hand. “There you are, Jihoonie! Did you encounter villainous characters on the way to the drinks?” she teases.

“Yes, Rumpelstiltskin wanted to bargain my ring in exchange for turning all my straw into gold, so I had to convince him to set me free,” he muses in monotone, offering them both a cup. When Wonwoo merely stares at the object, Jihoon shoves it into his available hand.

The liquid is deceptively clear but has probably seen its fair share of freshly eligible drinkers and bonfire boneheads. He surmises that it probably tastes bitter and will burn his throat like potable acid. In his investigation, he hadn’t noticed Seulgi glancing at him eagerly.

Wonwoo shifts his attention between his cup of liquid death and her pointed gaze, slowly bringing the cup to his mouth to elicit any reaction. When Seulgi begins to nod gently, he takes it as the sign to sample the drink. The flavor is quite unfavorable considering how it tastes like gasoline and lemon body wash purified for human consumption, but all that registers in his senses is the growing pain in his esophagus. It was if his throat was kindle wood and his body was seconds from complete ignition. With tears around his eyes, he fights back a coughing fit and gulps down his sample. At least the dim lighting of the room was sufficient to hide his reaction from Seulgi, who gives him a proud thumbs up.

She turns to address Jihoon seated on the floor, “But really, what took you so long back there? I almost thought you went home.” Wonwoo couldn’t grasp their relationship with one another, but it was apparently one that allowed her to run a hand along Jihoon’s hair.

“Got caught up listening to Mingyu and Jun’s banter,” he shrugs in reply.

The mention of the two names startles Wonwoo back into attention, almost spilling the contents of his cup. He throws a cautionary glance over at the kitchen and his eyes round out at the sight. Over by the drinks, Junhui was snickering at something Mingyu was whispering to him.

Wonwoo’s eyes graze over all their points of contact. One of Junhui’s hands holding the younger’s shoulder to keep the former from falling over due to all the laughter. Their knuckles adjoined on the counter. The final and upcoming spot causes goosebumps to taint his skin; Mingyu inching his face closer and Junhui closing his eyes.

And it was like a spark was set off in his body. His eyebrows furrow and his chest tightens without his volition. A repugnant prickle jabs his stomach, forcing him to turn away before he witnesses anything else. But it’s too late; a fire was coursing through his veins, pushing his heart into overdrive. Like a knee-jerk reaction, he douses the flames with the nearest fluid, gulping his drink in a second.

The burn in his throat returns hundredfold, but it might just be karma working her magic. Junhui was free to interact with whoever he pleased, in whatever manner he deemed fit. It would be unfair of Wonwoo to stake a claim on his roommate when he was spending the evening with another woman.

Yet his mind circumscribes the thought – why did he always feel this way towards Junhui?

Feeling pleasantly buzzed, he peeks up at Seulgi, hoping the other wasn’t watching. However, the universe doesn’t play that way. She alternates her watchful eyes between Wonwoo and a point behind him, her expression morphing from concern to understanding.

With trepidation in her voice, she confronts him. “Are you alright?”

It takes a couple of seconds for his mind to process the question and it might take an eternity for him to know the answer. This wasn’t a lightning round question he could solve in the blink of an eye. Because he didn’t know if he was truly alright, if the sinking feeling enveloping his heart was considered normal. Instead of formulating a response, he keeps his lips sealed.

Seulgi’s hand grasps his, rubbing circles along the palms. “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me.” Her other hand places her cup into his empty one. When he stares at the offering, she adds, “You seemed to like the first one so much, I figured you should have this one, as well. It is your first drink after all.”

A faint chuckle escapes his mouth, though it comes out listless. He consumes the remainder of the drink with more ease, the flavor and feeling beginning to settle in his receptors. His head begins to wobble but it might just be from the loud music.

Looking up from their joined hands, Seulgi flutters her pronounced eyelashes and giggles. “So, I was thinking of taking off for the evening. The smoke and sex in the air is getting to me.” She points with her thumb to the couple behind her. Soonyoung and Chungha were competing in a close-knit game of ‘ _who can moan the loudest_ ’ while sucking each other’s life forces out using their lips.

Wonwoo winces at the sight and Seulgi nods with a shrug. Who knew making out looked this disgusting in real life?

“Anywho, I can get you out of here, too, if you want to,” she offers with a genuine smile. “I can tell you weren’t enjoying so much yourself.”

“What?” The reply comes out loud, so he brings his voice down. “No, it was a fun evening, I promise.” And he meant it. Getting to know Seulgi, even with unconventional methods, proved to be more enjoyable than he had expected.

“I know, I’m a delight to be with, aren’t I?” She winks at him and he rolls his eyes, but they both laugh regardless. She tugs at their shared hands and whispers, “Come on, follow my lead.”

Seulgi is the first to get on her feet, stretching and pulling Wonwoo up with her. She guides his hand and situates it by her shoulder, lacing her other hand around his slim waist. The proximity is enough to warm him up, but his muscles feel frozen at the tendons.

From her position, Seulgi nudges Chungha with a soft kick, bursting the couple’s smooching bubble. “I’m going to head back to my place.” She turns to address Soonyoung. “Mind if I take Wonwoo with me?” A suggestive wink caps off her sentence. When the implications of her words finally register in Wonwoo’s brain, his cheeks bloom a furious red.

Soonyoung looks at the both of them, a mischievous smirk forming within seconds. “It is more than fine, Ms. Kang Seulgi.” He gives Wonwoo a thumbs up and an affirmative nodding pout and Wonwoo wants to die. 

Chungha straightens out her hair with a finger comb and says, “Be responsible, okay?” She points to each of them, awaiting their confirmation. Appeased and reassured, Chungha nuzzles closer to Soonyoung. “I’m going to be with Soonyoung all night, so text any of us if you two need anything.”

“Yeah,” Soonyoung extends the offer, thrilled at his date’s declaration. “That includes any of the necessities.” He whips out a hand to count off. “Booze, condoms, lube-“

An uncomfortable shiver runs down Wonwoo’s spine and his eyes nearly pop out of the sockets. “Okay! We’re going now.” He turns on his heels, dragging a giggling Seulgi with him towards the exit.

“Use protection!” Soonyoung calls out from behind them, though Wonwoo refuses to address the ill-timed statement. He chooses to avoid glancing towards the kitchen in the fear of seeing another duo of connected lips. The pair pass by Yuna slapping Seokmin straight on the cheek, Minghao luckily situated behind the latter to cushion the recoil, and are greeted with the bright lights of the hallway as they exit the suite.

Seulgi paces a few meters away from the room and turns to face Wonwoo. “Well, that was a blast, wasn’t it?” Chuckling, she sheepishly laces her fingers in front of her. “Soonyoung’s quite the character.”

“I sincerely apologize on his behalf. He’s already a handful without alcohol in him,” he sighs. “So, you can only imagine how much worse it could have been if he was drop-dead drunk.” Now that he was out of the ghastly suite, his breathing and heart rate evened out. Propping himself against the wall, he rubs his temples to numb the muffled thumping.

She follows suit, angling her head to view the side of his face. “Don’t worry, I’ve met worse,” she admits with a giggle. Under the fluorescent lights, Seulgi’s fair complexion glows and Wonwoo wishes that he can be attracted to her. How much easier would his life be if he was? Clearing her throat, she continues, “Thank you for this evening, Wonwoo.”

The hint of candor and earnestness in her voice sends butterflies circling inside of him, a grin arising. “Thank you, too. I’m sorry if I wasn’t a great date.” 

“Please, not every date has to end up like those two lovebirds in there.” She gestures to the general direction of Soonyoung and Chungha, provoking them into a laughing fit at the thought. “Sometimes, making a friend is more than enough for me,” she consoles, smiling.

“Friends,” he reflects, the pleasant butterflies still fluttering. “I like that.” 

She nods. “And, as your friend, can I give you some advice?” Wonwoo arches a brow and she takes it as the sign to proceed. “Talk to him.”

A flush overcomes his pallor and his stomach sinks. There’s an unreadable expression sprawled across her sharp features that he can’t make out. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he sputters out. It was half-true, at least. Who is this ‘him’ that she’s referring to? The oversized golden retriever or his roommate that elicits foreign feelings he never knew existed within him.

With a meek scoff, she bunches up his cheek again. “You’re a smart guy, I think you can figure it out.” In a quick motion, Seulgi dusts off her outfit and hides her hands behind her. “I’m going to head out, so take care of yourself. Goodnight, Jeon Wonwoo.” 

Just as he parts his lips to respond, Seulgi reaches in and places a gentle peck on his cheek. The contact is tenuous, but that doesn’t stop his blush from deepening. He holds in a breath, rubbing the point of contact. Flushed and flustered, he awaits the metaphorical fireworks to burst. 

Yet nothing comes. 

It was what it was. A simple peck.

Knowing her own impact, Seulgi shakes her head and giggles as she walks away. With a final wave by the stairwell, she leaves a dumbfounded Wonwoo to replay the last fifteen seconds in his head. The sensation fades faster than expected, but the impression is inked deep into his heart.

He needs a drink. 

The wailing passers-by snaps him out of his petrified state. A tap on his phone notifies him that it’s only half-past ten. By all definitions, the night is still young. There are enough half-drunk students loitering the halls to conclude that there’s still about a million gallons of alcohol left to consume before everyone calls it quits.

But all Wonwoo wants to do right now is dispose of his ridiculous get up and slip under the covers, tucked away from Bacchus and his agents of crapulence. 

He just needs to inform his companions of his departure. Opening the messaging app on his phone, he laments at the absence of cellular reception. The number of students and mobile devices in the building must be causing a disruption, he hypothesizes.

Looks like it was time to for plan B: manually finding one of them for the report. Immediately, Soonyoung and Jihoon are off the list, both of whom think he’s doing unspeakable things with Seulgi. All that leaves him with is… Junhui.

The night rewinds in his head, pausing at that exact moment. When Mingyu reached in and Junhui didn’t back away. The thought sends a plethora of emotions loose in his mind – vexation, disenchantment, and most prominent, withdrawal.

Running a hand along his shoulder blade, the one Junhui usually latches onto, a shiver runs down his spine despite the fever boiling over. In a hallway filled with bodies, he’s never felt more alone.

Shaking his head, he sets his resolve. What his roommate did was none of his business. As it stands, he has more pressing issues to solve. The mission was simple: locate Junhui then get back to the dorm safely. He couldn’t possibly mess up two steps, right?

 _Wrong_.

Clicking his heels, he hightails it back into the suite. Somehow the party grew aggressive during his brief absence. With the volume intensified by several notches, a dance battle ensues in the living room. Wonwoo gapes at Soonyoung and Chungha atop the coffee table, all sense of personal space thrown out the window while they rut against one another. He swears he can see paper bills being propelled towards the hypnotized couple, on-lookers collectively chanting for the participants to ‘go in deeper’ or to ‘take it off’ or phrases in that worrisome area.

The chaos provides the perfect veil for him to perpetrate the scene, scanning for his target. His vision shifts hazily and his headache pounds in time with the music, making it nearly impossible to perform an accurate visual inspection. Even with only two drinks in his system, he feels a vodka bottle heavier. _I really need to make it home soon_.

Seokmin is still by the entrance, crying into Minghao’s shoulders. The latter expresses both annoyance and empathy while rubbing soft circles on the former’s back. Turning to the kitchen, he’s surprised to spot a different set of long-haired bodies intently scanning the drinks. 

“Hurry up and pick one!”

“Give me a second. There’s so many of them, it’s hard to tell the cheap knock-offs from the vineyard masterpieces.”

“We’re already late for the party and we still have to pick up the cake.”

“This isn’t some convenience store snack we can randomly choose. We have to be smart about this.”

“Can’t we just FLAMES it?”

“FLAMES? We aren’t arranging the rum’s marriage with the gin. We’re here to make them elope.”

Sana giggles into Dahyun’s shoulders, obviously amused by the reference. Picking up a bright pink bottle, she turns to the blue-haired girl. “This one’s pretty, why don’t we just go with this one?”

“It is pretty,” she acknowledges, brows furrowed while scrutinizing the label. “Forty percent alcohol, distilled, peach-flavored.” Nodding after a whiff, she appears unconvinced. “I’m not too sure, unnie. I need a third opinion. What do you think, Wonwoo-ya?” she implores without looking behind her.

The mention of his name sends him crashing, losing his footing from his (terrible) hiding spot by the door frame. “What in the- how did you know I was here?”

“You’re not exactly Susan Storm with your flashy outfit. Which looks great on you, by the way. What took you so long to quit the plaid obsession?” Handing the bottle over to Sana, Dahyun offers a hand to the fallen non-hero.

“It wasn’t an obsession,” he argues while yanking himself up, politely declining the gesture. His wardrobe was already under attack, the least he could do now was defend his pride. “What are you doing here anyways?”

“Enjoying my classmate’s party!” Sana quickly squeals followed by a nervous chuckle. “Aren’t we allowed to do that, oppa? They’re our classmates too, you know! And we weren’t doing anything wrong,” she squabbles, clutching the pink bottle closer to her person.

Dahyun pinches her temples and rolls her eyes, embodying a face palm. “Very smooth, unnie.”

“What?” Wonwoo asks, looking between suspicious Sana and dormant Dahyun, unsure of their intentions. 

Leaning towards the younger, Sana whispers into Dahyun’s ear, receiving a neutral shrug in response. “Well, we were just planning to-“ Sana trails off, looking everywhere but into Wonwoo’s eyes. With a defeated sigh, she admits, “We were going to take one of these for another party across campus.”

If he was uncertain a few seconds ago, Wonwoo is completely perplexed now because _what_? “What do you mean you were ‘going to take one of these’? Are you planning on,” he lowers his voice for good measure, “ _stealing_ that?”

Sana whines, completely concealing herself behind Dahyun and raising both arms like she was about to be arrested. “Fine! You caught us, officer. What do you plan on doing to us bad girls?”

His eyes form saucers and the blush returns even redder. Perhaps oblivious to the double entendre, Sana tilts her head, wondering why Wonwoo formed tomato skin.

“Okay, please stop talking now, unnie.” Dahyun gently covers Sana’s mouth and clarifies, “We’re not _stealing_ it; we’re finding a better home for it. The party we’re attending is invitation only. The invitation being a bottle of alcohol.” She gestures to the pink bottle and justifies further, “Look, it’s almost midnight and no one else is drinking it here. In our party, it will be loved and appreciated.”

Sana cradles the bottle like a newborn infant, rubbing the base as if it were a belly. _Cute_.

He sighs and shakes his head. “I’m not condoning this, but I’m also not going to stop you.” Crossing his arms, he warns, “However, if anyone catches you in the act, I won’t vouch for you guys.” 

“Whatever, Jiminy Cricket. We’re taking it anyways,” Dahyun settles, rolling her eyes. “Besides, this isn’t grand larceny. It’s just one bottle, one time.” She pours a hefty amount into a cup, sampling it before handing it to Sana.

The partygoers roar into a frenzy, hollers and howls bouncing off the walls. The DJ, or the wasted virtuoso from the looks of it, shifted the tracks to club music, motivating the crowd to bounce uncontrollably. It’s a miracle that the floor hasn’t given out yet.

The universe chooses this moment to remind Wonwoo of his spreading headache, forcing him to rub his temples to soothe the pain. Even with his fuzzy vision, a tall, long haired male should stand out in the crowd, yet Wonwoo still can’t spot him.

A red cup flashes in his peripheral vision, the owner eyeing him expectantly. Finally claiming the item, Sana grins and returns by Dahyun’s side, lacing their arms together. “What are you doing here, oppa? I didn’t peg you as a party person.”

“That’s because I’m not,” he corrects, cringing at the sickeningly sweet aroma from the drink. It was poisoned apple sweet. “I came here with my roommates who I can’t locate.” Clearing his throat and aiming to sound casual, he asks, “Have you seen Junhui anywhere?” His voice cracks at the name and instant regret climbs up his throat.

A slick smile forms along Dahyun’s lips, her eyes mischievous. “Why do you ask?”

Jitters run through his muscles. She was always too perceptive for her own good. Straightening his posture, he defends his pride once more. “I just need to tell him I’m heading back to the dorm so they won’t think I fell down a ditch.”

“Oh.” The mischief falls from her expression, quickly replaced with dilemma. It didn’t match her perennially confident personality. She shares a look with Sana, the latter as uncertain as she was.

His feet unconsciously shift on their heels and his hand trembles. What if something had happened to the older while he was too busy being immature? Swallowing the lump in his throat, he prepares himself for the worst. “What is it?”

The pair glance at one another for a while before Sana gestures for Dahyun to explain. “We know where he is, but you’re not going to like it.”

A sigh of relief slips. At least Junhui was safe. He thanks his stoic face for preventing further personal embarrassment. “It’s fine,” he reassures. “Please tell me so I can go home.”

With a final look, the duo step aside, forming a ravine between them. Initially, he thinks they were avoiding the question. But when he follows their line of sight, a click echoes in his brain. Like a signal for the guillotine to send him to his death.

Across from them is the same room he was seated beside earlier.

Mingyu’s bedroom.

He chugs the drink in one go.

“Whoa, slow down, Wonwoo.” Dahyun yanks the cup away from his hand, Sana patting his back to subdue the coughing fit.

“I’m alright,” he chokes out. After racing to catch his breath, he quips, “You made a great choice, Sana. It tastes _great_ ,” he pushes out the word hoarsely. His throat and eyes sting.

“I’m glad you like it,” Sana smiles apologetically, her gentle hand still on his back. “Are you really alright?”

He cups his hands to stop the trembles. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

Sana glances with concern, eyes searching for help from Dahyun who merely sighs in response. “It’s nothing.” 

Discretely checking her watch, Dahyun discloses, “We’re going to head out to the other party now. See you on Monday?”

“Right, Monday. Legacy project day,” he confirms, feigning composure. “I finished the part you assigned to me, so don’t worry about that.”

She clutches a hand on his shoulder, a slight turn on her lips displaying unease. “That’s not what I’m worried about.” She laces an arm around the older girl and begins to backpedal. “Good night, Wonwoo-ya. Take care.”

As soon as the pair are out of sight, Wonwoo shakily groans, running a hand through his hair. It was the third time that night that someone told him to be careful. As much as he appreciates the gesture, a twisted part of his brain bleeds with frustration. He wasn’t a child that people needed to look after. He wasn’t made of glass; he was a concrete statue, rigid and tough. At twenty years of age, he’s an adult and is fully capable of making rational decisions.

Like this one. Snagging another cup from the counter and pouring out what he believes is vodka, he downs the drink like an adult. Except he gags halfway through due to the harsh burning sensation in his throat. Perhaps this move was a mistake.

 _No, adults can make mistakes every now-and-then_ , he theorizes. Even if it was a gargantuan and foolish one with the way his head feels like it’s on a seesaw. Wonwoo washes his face by the sink, sobering up by a fraction. He can’t be a drunken mess and immature at the same time; he had to choose his battles.

So, like an adult, he marches over to Mingyu’s door and knocks. He wasn’t going to intrude on their _moment_ , if there was any.

Like an adult, he waits on the other side for a response. It’s common courtesy.

Like an adult, he tests the door, discovering it to be open when no indication warns him to keep out. They didn’t put a sock on the doorknob, so it was fair game. This is what adults do, right?

 _So far, so good_. He was doing a marvelous job at this adulting thing if he could say so himself.

Except, his courage falters when he spots the lump hidden under the covers on the bed. Suddenly, he’s a kid all over again, afraid of the monsters lying dormant for their chance to strike. Along with his resolve, his brief reprieve of sobriety dissipates like ash. His vision swims and he can’t discern movement from disequilibrium.

The pounding on his chest increases, his heart threatening to pop out. He was unsure what worried him more – the idea of the two of them canoodling beneath the sheets or the fact that he could be interrupting them at this very moment. His cheeks warm up at the insinuation.

“Hyung?” Wonwoo calls out, bracing himself against the dresser. Gravity was creeping up on him, every part of his body gaining mass and losing consciousness. “Junnie?” he tries again, redeeming only silence in return.

Wonwoo approaches to investigate further, steps featherlight to avoid detection. However, a loud bang from the living room startles him, his tangled legs sending him flying across the room. He spares himself from a faceplant by landing on his palms. Only when he notices the striped design running across his perception does he realize that he’d settled on the bed.

He scrambles to his feet, arms curled around his torso in self-defense. Luckily, a rush of logic slaps him in the face. Inspecting the lump once more, he breathes easier when he determines it to be nothing more than a large body pillow. Well, a large golden retriever body pillow. His inkling on Mingyu being a furry appeared to be true.

Chemical relief brews inside of him. It was as if he learned his greatest nightmare was merely a trick of the light. Wonwoo lies down on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb the plushie. He knows this is beyond the realm of affability, more so that it’s Mingyu’s bed, but his muscles are aching for comfort. 

His eyes slip shut and his thoughts run a mile a minute. Muffled sounds penetrate the walls, the party most probably still in full swing. The pulsing bass strikes him forcefully yet, like a brick to the face, the realization that he misses Junhui hits him harder.

Looking back, Wonwoo hadn’t seen the older ever since… _that_ juncture, but that doesn’t mean the company wasn’t welcome. Perhaps it wasn’t anger that he felt but simple confusion, all the questions in his brain that are left unanswered.

Why couldn’t he have spent the evening with Junhui instead? Why couldn’t his first drink be with him? What would it be like to be close to him and to look into the infinity inscribed in the boy’s auburn eyes, the same ones that have been taunting him since the day they met?

What would it be like to be held in his arms? _His_ Junnie.

 _No, this is wrong_.

Seulgi’s innocent kiss, Dahyun’s concerned expression, Mingyu’s cozy mattress, all coated with the alcohol swimming in his circulation, were deluding his reasoning. Wonwoo wasn’t allowed to feel this way. There would be repercussions for his poorly chosen actions.

He’s seen the effects of alcohol in action before. Books explained it in comprehensive detail and movies portrayed it in technicolor. The last time Wonwoo witnessed it, he’d lost his only semblance of friendship and had to walk home in the middle of the night from a failed attempt at a sleepover.

Nothing respectable and sensible can come from inebriation.

Shaking his head and rubbing his eyes, Wonwoo tries to sit up but he can barely lift a muscle. It was as if the bed was a magnet and he was a slab of metal, a million pounds too massive. Beads of sweat began to form and a deafening ring overtook his hearing. Who knew his first taste of alcohol would lead to his early grave?

And, as if the Grim Reaper had come to claim him, a shadow loomed over him that darkened his field of vision. Instinctively, he seals his eyes shut. Goosebumps appear and a chill runs down his spine. He was definitely not prepared to die.

“Wonwoo?”

 _Thank god_ , he exhales. The vodka was making him delirious. Placing an appeasing hand on his chest, he peeks at the owner of the voice only for his eyes to widen owlishly.

“What are you doing here, hyung?” Mingyu asks with rapt interest, scanning Wonwoo’s body lying inappropriately on his bed. 

Wonwoo takes it back. _Grim Reaper, take me now_.

Calming breaths, calming breaths. He had some explaining to do, and he couldn’t afford to sound stupid. There had to be a decent reason as to why he was lying down on the host’s bed without permission. A couple of awkward seconds pass and Mingyu continues to stare at him expectantly. Maybe it was time for him to accept the conclusion that there really was no logic behind his trespassing.

“I-I’m-“ he hiccups, adding, “I might be drunk.” It’s a slightly misled statement given his lack of experience on the topic but, with the way his vision reels due to a splitting headache, Wonwoo wouldn’t use any other term to describe his current state.

Idly, he wonders what type of drunk he was. Would he bawl his eyes out? Ramble on endlessly? Hopefully, he wasn’t the ‘vomit-his-guts-out’ drunk.

Mingyu chuckles at the admission. “I can see that, hyung.” With another examination, he advises, “Stay here, I’ll get you some water.” The younger dashes out of the room, returning a few seconds later with a glass of water. Mingyu gently lifts Wonwoo’s head to administer the liquid bit by bit. Then, he wipes the condensation on the latter’s forehead with nearby tissue paper before resting the head down on the pillows. “We were looking all over for you,” he reports while disposing of the used rolls.

Wonwoo opens an eye to respond. “We?”

“Yeah, me and Jun hyung.”

“Oh, I didn’t know,” he declares. Wonwoo recalls the two of them from that evening, all close and intimate. Sadness surely had its own ways of creeping up on him.

Mingyu sits beside the bed, resting his chin on folded arms. The distance between their faces was too close for comfort, but then again, Wonwoo was already lying down on his bed. Pleasantries were already out the window, fading like smoke. “It’s alright, hyung. We tried calling you, but we never got a response.” 

“Sorry, I lost reception in the building,” he wags his finger, gesturing to his surroundings.

“We did too, so we split up to find you and decided to meet back here in an hour.” The younger checks his watch before postulating, “I guess he lost track of time.”

A pang of guilt drips into his circulation. Here he was, thinking that the two of them were fooling around when, in reality, they were running around trying to find him. And now, he’s drunk on Mingyu’s bed after overdrinking, his actions fueled by his outlandish and misguided convictions. Wonwoo really was a child who needed constant supervision. 

Another apology was on the tip of his tongue when his headache intensified, his brain threatening to burst out of his skill. Shivers overcome him and his teeth clatter. Clamping on his temples, Wonwoo groans frustratedly. He’s never felt so much physical pain before.

The bout of agony doesn’t go unnoticed. “Are you alright, hyung?” he asks, but springs into action regardless of a response. Maneuvering Wonwoo’s body, Mingyu slips his blanket on top of the older. Then, he rearranges the pillows to support Wonwoo’s head and rushes to refill the glass. “I think you’ve had too much to drink.”

“Me too,” he concurs after drinking, the younger grinning. The water seems to help, the headache receding faster than he had anticipated. Mild thumps still poke at him but at least he could think properly now. 

Glancing at Mingyu, the boy biting at his nails and nervously checking his phone repeatedly like he was anticipating a message, Wonwoo wonders why he was so afraid of him in the first place. Perhaps blinded by intimidation and status, he failed to see that Mingyu was also a college student just like him, ostensibly lost and confused.

Unconsciously, the question that was riddling his mind slips out. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Appearing appalled at the randomness, Mingyu drops the bitten finger. “What do you mean, hyung?”

“I mean, I’m lying down on your bed and you’re taking care of me when I haven’t done anything for you.”

The younger gapes at him for a moment before his expression shifts from understanding to amusement. “You’re joking, right?” When the older shakes his head, he drops the cheer on his face. Wonwoo’s stomach twists uncomfortably. “Because we’re friends, Wonwoo hyung.” 

_Oh_. He hadn’t thought of that. “We are?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu confirms instantly but softly. “I know we’re not the closest people in our group, but that doesn’t make you any less of a friend in my eyes.”

Wonwoo swallows a lump down. The feeling was foreign to him, so much so that he couldn’t ascertain its identity. All he knew was that it wasn’t an unpleasant one. Was this what belongingness felt like? So far in his life, he had only experienced it with his mom but a sick part of him sometimes felt like it was forced due to bloodline.

Because who would willingly love Jeon Wonwoo?

Yet, these people, his _friends_ , enthusiastically invite him to parties and look after him as if he were one of them. Warmth blossoms at the thought, an involuntary grin curling on his face.

The expression is infectious it seems, the younger smiling back at him. As if he were able to read Wonwoo’s thoughts, Mingyu discloses, “Look, I’m sure I’m not the only one who’s noticed that the air between us is pretty cloudy.”

His muscles immediately tense up. Wonwoo didn’t expect Mingyu to be so upfront. Attempting to avoid death by discomfort, he begins to defend himself when the younger interrupts.

“I suppose I’m partly at fault here but that’s just because I think you’re so great. You look so intimidating all the time, I thought you hated me or something.” 

“I don’t hate you,” he blurts out. The suddenness surprises the younger, but he hopes that the message got through because he meant it. “You could say the same for me. Finding out that you were _the_ Kim Mingyu, this famous child prodigy, made me feel so small.” The admission was like a vocal thought, intended more for the speaker than the receiver. An idea he would never recognize if he didn’t verbalize it. 

In the dim light of the room, Wonwoo can make out the faintest blush on Mingyu’s cheeks. “Are you kidding me? When I found out I was in the same program as you, I was freaking out.”

“I think we can agree that we were both idiots,” he remarks, Mingyu laughing alongside him.

“We were.” He rests his chin on folded arms once more, a dopey smile across his lips. “I guess we got on the wrong foot, hyung. If you’d like, maybe we can start all over again.”

Wonwoo shifts on his spot, facing Mingyu. The latter appears hopeful and appeased. A wave of ease washes over him, glad to know they shared similar sentiments. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

Mingyu cracks a full smile, prominent canines and crooked teeth glittering. Up close, Wonwoo examines the younger’s defined jawline and bulging Adam’s apple, understanding his visual appeal. The latter offers a hand, _re_ -introducing himself, “I’m Kim Mingyu. I have a passion for cooking, but I break five plates a week and am a walking fire hazard.”

An unintentional giggle slips, much to the fire hazard’s delight. “I’m Jeon Wonwoo. I like to read books, but I have the worst memory imaginable.” A beat passes. “Oh, and I’m total lightweight,” he supplements, firmly shaking the younger’s hand. 

Mingyu guffaws, obviously amused at the older’s bluntness. “It’s nice to meet you, Wonwoo hyung.”

“You, too.” He lays back down, staring at the blanketed darkness in the room. On the soft mattress, he feels boneless. While he feels content at the turn of events, his stomach grumbles with hunger. Is this a sign of drunkenness? A thought passes. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“It’s nothing special,” he dismisses. “My mom taught me when I was younger, and I just kept the skill. Maybe you can sample my cooking sometime.”

He rubs his abdomen, mouth watering at the thought of food and food alone. “That’d be swell,” he comments, voice dreamy and weightless. “You know who else can cook?”

“Who?”

“Junnie.”

“Right, he mentioned it several times before.”

“Who’s ‘he’?”

“Jun hyung.”

“Right.” Okay, Wonwoo is definitely drunk.

Mingyu doubles over, personifying the slang ‘rolling on the floor, laughing.’ He would be offended at the reaction, but even he’s astounded by his own nonsensical train of thoughts. A brash smile overcomes him. When the younger finally sits up, gasping for oxygen, he reveals, “I’ve never met anyone who was this funny under the influence.”

“Be quiet,” he orders in a whisper, placing a finger on Mingyu’s lips. “Junnie can’t know I’m drunk.”

The younger meekly nods, smiling and crossing the spot above his heart. “I don’t think Jun hyung would mind, though.”

And, as if saying a person’s name enough times could summon them, the subject appears by the door frame. “I wouldn’t mind what?” 

Mingyu shrieks, toppling over on the bed and landing on the older who grunts at the weight. The former promptly climbs off, muttering repeated apologies. He turns to address the newcomer. “There you are, hyung. You surprised me!”

Mounting off his spot, Junhui approaches the pair on their spot. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you like that,” he pats the younger’s shoulder in appeasement. “Never thought to see Wonwon here of all places.” 

The mention of his name causes him to shut his eyes, like a child faking slumber during an afternoon siesta.

“Me neither, hyung. But they say you find things in the places you least expect them,” Mingyu broaches. The pair murmur words too soft for Wonwoo to hear. 

The long-haired boy giggles, crouching to analyze the subdued patient. “Are you awake, Wonwon?” he prods on an arm to gain his attention. “Did you enjoy the party? A little birdie here told me you’re rather drunk.”

Wonwoo gasps, “I can’t believe you told on me!” He crosses his arms in defense while the duo laugh.

When the older finally catches his breath, he brushes Wonwoo’s bangs out of his eyes. The touch sends tingles surging. “There’s nothing wrong with that; it’s the ‘college experience!’”

“Yeah, well, now I’m a walking cliché,” he sulks and faces away from him. 

Junhui is quick to follow the movement, already on the other side of the bed. “Aw, that’s not all true,” he gestures at Wonwoo’s position. “You’re a _lying down_ cliché.”

He attempts to remain impassive but cracks a grin beyond his control. “What’s the point of this conversation?” he diverts the topic.

“The point is that we have to go home now to treat your soon-to-be hangover, Wonwon.” He bops a finger on Wonwoo’s cheek.

“But I’m not drunk!” he whips his arms in exclamation. “Here, I’ll show you.” Directing all his energy to his abdomen, Wonwoo rises to a sitting position with a proud expression on his face. He motions to stand up, except the inevitable headrush beats him to it. Luckily, Mingyu catches the drunkard and averts a disaster.

“Whoa, slow down!” Thanks to Mingyu’s bulk, the two don’t topple over. “He’s really drunk, Jun hyung.”

Wonwoo grunts with a headache, equilibrium thrown a mile away. “See, I’m standing perfectly fine,” he lies with an assuring tone.

His roommate sighs, coming to claim the liar from the host and supporting Wonwoo’s weight with an arm hooked on the latter’s back. It was a familiar feeling, but butterflies still wreak havoc in his stomach. “I’ll believe it when you stop wobbling.”

Wonwoo snorts but abides, resting his head on the curve of Junhui’s shoulder. _Strawberries_. The scent is the type of sweet he’s grown to appreciate. To avoid an accident, he tries his best to stay put while Junhui maneuvers them to the exit.

Now out of the bedroom, the party appears extinguished for the night. Sprawled across the living room are exhausted bodies, nursing a beer or inhumanely bending over a piece of furniture. The few conscious bodies move to clean the clutter left behind and tend to those unable to move.

One of the survivors and Mingyu’s roommate, Eunwoo, informs them that the guests had migrated to a larger party across campus. Fortunately for them, the apartment was spared from a total riot and nothing appears to be broken.

Wonwoo fans through the remaining crowd, Jihoon and the dancers nowhere in sight. He surmises that Soonyoung and Chungha opted for their own private show somewhere, and that Jihoon decided to call it a night a while back. At least he wouldn’t have to explain how he ended up back in the suite Seulgi-less and as a drunken mess.

However, he does spot Minghao straddling Seokmin on the couch, the couple in their own heated make out haze. Wonwoo stares at them with round eyes and a gaping mouth while Junhui drags him out.

“Thank you for inviting us over, Mingyu,” Junhui acknowledges him by the door, Wonwoo still in tow. “Are you sure you don’t want me to help fix up? It’s the least I can do for the invitation.”

“We’ve got it covered here, don’t worry.” The host gestures to his roommate collecting used cups. “Anyways, you have to make sure Wonwoo hyung makes it home safely.”

Grumbling, he objects, “I told you I’m fine!” Music continues to pound on throughout the building, intensifying his headache and desire to crash. It takes every fiber of his being to avoid passing out on the spot.

“And I said I could fly yet here I am on solid ground,” Junhui retorts, bolstering his hold on the drunk.

The younger laughs at the exchange. “You guys should probably get going.”

“On it, sergeant.” He turns on the spot, waving off the host. “Thanks again for the party!”

“It’s my pleasure!” Mingyu returns the wave. “Good night, Wonwoo hyung!”

Wonwoo leans his head to reply wistfully, “Good night, my friend Mingyu!” He nearly screams but he wants to make sure he’s heard. “Don’t forget the food you promised!”

“I won’t,” he calls out, both thumbs up to affirm the promise.

As soon as the door slips shut, Junhui turns to face him. “You’re really out of it, huh?”

“What do you mean? We’re still in the building,” he states matter-of-factly, latching onto the other for dear life. While his feet remember to take steps, his torso is asleep against Junhui. Dizzy and unbalanced, he straightens his posture to make himself less of a burden.

The older grins, suppressing a laugh to avoid losing his grip. “That’s not what I mean. I’m just surprised that you’re so casual around Mingyu when, only hours ago, you felt so uncomfortable around him.”

“What can I say, I guess time changes people.” Wonwoo waits a beat before adding, “Well, time and alcohol.” A hiccup escapes. “I’m not drunk,” he reaffirms. 

“If you say so, Wonwon,” Junhui claims. He readjusts their position, his right hand supporting the younger’s back and his left hand gripping Wonwoo’s left wrist.

Silently, they descend the flights of stairs. His heart thunders in his chest, unsure if from the brief exercise or their proximity. In theory, they walk like this all the time on the way to class, so he should be immune to it by now. But during the tail end of a chaotic evening, the position feels intimate. Like it belongs to them.

Wonwoo thanks his drunken flush for masking the heat in the apple of his cheeks.

The cool evening greets them as they depart from the university dorms, a refreshing breeze passing by. Lights twinkle in his peripheral, a mix of whites and yellows interspersing. There are a couple of people walking past them with drinks in hand and sporting extravagant outfits.

A quiet atmosphere becomes of them, only the muffled background music and their footsteps permeating the air. He tries to fill the lull with a conversation when an intense shiver raises the hair across his skin. Like a frozen marble, his head feels heavy in its place and collapses. And so does he.

“Careful, Wonwoo!” the older warns, but he’s already on his hands and knees, dry heaving by the pavement. 

It’s as if the night is trying to reclaim every milliliter of alcohol he’d taken in. His esophagus is in an inferno, tangled and burned from acid. The bout goes on for a minute and he’s worried he might actually vomit out his stomach at this rate. _At least the contents are spilling on the grass_ , he contemplates. Does this count as organic fertilizer?

Junhui stays beside him and rubs calming circles on his back, coaxing the rest of the episode out. With his free hand, he holds Wonwoo’s bangs back to prevent projectiles from latching on. 

As the gagging stops, he says between breaths, “Sorry-“ _breath_ “-sorry-“ _breath_ “-sorry.”

“It’s fine,” the older sighs while combing through his hair, voice gentle yet laced with concern. He chuckles, teasing, “I would be more disappointed if this didn’t happen.”

Drained, he lays back on the older’s stomach. “I’m glad my misery amuses you.”

“Don’t pout, Wonwon. I didn’t mean it like that,” he teases, running the back of his fingers on the drunk’s cheek. Wonwoo involuntarily leans into the touch, chasing the warmth that it radiates. 

As Junhui’s finger continues to trace the expanse of his jawline, his eyes drift shut. The soft caresses relax his muscles and he nearly melts into a puddle. Releasing the alcohol helped, the headache now only a dull numbness. Despite the comfort, his heart rate skyrockets, more so since Junhui’s heart appears to be mirroring the action.

It’s a cozy blanket in the evening, a nightlight in the darkness, the bright stars scattered in the sky. Comfort hidden in the unknown.

 _So, this is what it feels like to be held by him_.

He’s unsure how long they stay in their spot. There’s a bliss coursing through his veins, nearly soothing him to sleep. Even with his eyes closed, he senses judging gazes on him. Given the position the two of them are in, he’s not completely surprised. Yet he can hardly bring himself to care. 

On the brink of sleep, a soft voice holds him back. It sounds angelic. “Wonwon, did you fall asleep?”

“Yes,” he replies, eyes still closed.

Junhui giggles and he can’t help but grin in reply. “Come on, we have to get you home.”

“Don’t wanna.” 

Prodding at the sleeper’s sides, he complains, “Well, we can’t stay here all night!”

Luckily, Wonwoo isn’t ticklish but he swats the perpetrator’s finger regardless. “I don’t think I can move, Junnie.” He wiggles his lifeless body for emphasis. 

Junhui sighs and hooks two arms underneath Wonwoo’s armpits. Without warning, he lifts him off the ground, the latter nearly squealing in surprise. Gesturing to his back, he commands, “Come on, hop on.”

 _Abort mission_! _Jump ship, captain_! _Man overboard_!

Just like that, his cheeks flare up like signal flares, sirens blaring in his brain. He holds in his breath while lacing his hands around Junhui’s neck, resting his front on the latter’s back. Wonwoo sends a quick prayer to every saint he can name within five seconds, hoping they would heed his wish and stop the erratic pounding of his heart. “O-okay, n-now what?”

“Now, we’re going home!” the older asserts, hoisting Wonwoo’s legs up in a backpack carry.

“ _Shit_!” he yelps several pitches higher. His brain takes a moment to accommodate the new position. When it finally comes to, the older is already pacing towards their dormitory.

Junhui laughs, “You’re surprisingly light for someone who eats all that instant ramen.”

“Well, you’re surprisingly strong for someone who eats all those leaves,” he counters, hoping that speaking can dispel the heat from his blush.

“Didn’t you watch Popeye? Vegetables are good for you, Wonwon.”

He shakes his head from where it’s burrowed near Junhui’s neck. “We didn’t have a television growing up. Couldn’t afford it.”

“Oh,” the older exhales, voice melancholic. “I never knew.”

“I never told you, Junnie.” In truth, he hated being pitied for growing up poor. It wasn’t a topic he particularly enjoyed so he always felt a need to evade it. A metaphorical lightbulb blinks open. “Maybe we can play a game to get to know each other better.”

“A game?”

Wonwoo hums. “Seulgi taught it to me earlier.”

“And what does this game entail?”

He’s glad Junhui didn’t touch on the Seulgi-date subject; he’s unsure how to go about his apparent friendzone. “It’s a game of icebreakers, but lightning round style. No second guesses, no takebacks.”

“Sounds simple enough,” the older assents.

All semblance of drowsiness was washed away by his own excitement. The younger maneuvers a hand over Junhui’s chest, a racing pulse at his fingertips. It must be taxing on the older to carry him and talk at the same time, he speculates. “Also, I can tell if you’re lying, so no bluffing!”

Junhui scoffs at the accusation. “I won’t, Wonwon.” There’s the nickname again. So far, he’d reserved it for teasing purposes, but this time almost sounded endearing.

“Okay, here we go. Round one,” he cheers, another faint cheer in the background supporting him. They pass by the admissions buildings, halfway back to the dorm. “If you were an animal, what would you be?”

“A cat,” he smiles, continuing, “I know you’d choose to be a cat, too.”

“Aha, but I would rather be a fox,” Wonwoo muses. It was half true, a cat being the first thing that came to mind, but he wouldn’t give the older the smug satisfaction. “Your turn, hyung.”

“Alright,” he ponders for a second. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Sunset purple. How about you?”

The older giggles. “Don’t judge me, but it’s the color white.”

“I didn’t expect you to be so vanilla, Junnie.” He wasn’t sure why he hoped it was velvety red like his scent or auburn like his eyes, though this explains all of Junhui’s white shirts.

“Hey!” the older nudges him in retaliation. “It’s the easiest color to work with.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “If you say so,” he whistles. “What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever eaten?”

“A scorpion,” he responds instantly, flashing a proud grin.

“A _scorpion_?” he asks, voice a mix of disbelief and disgust.

Junhui snickers, amused by the reaction. “It’s not that bad once you try it. Let me guess yours – vegetables?”

“I’ll have you know that I eat all my vegetables.” His mom would be proud. “And it’s seafood.”

“ _Seafood_?” The older turns to face him, brows pulled together and breath fanning over Wonwoo’s mouth. This was too close. “Are you allergic?”

“N-no,” he stutters, stretching his head back. “I just don’t like the taste.”

“I’ll make sure not to cook anything with seafood then.” Junhui’s gaze returns to the road ahead and Wonwoo allows himself to breathe. “What’s your favorite movie?”

“Lilo and Stitch.” 

“Really?” When the younger nods, he almost bounces in delight. “Now that I can get behind. Why is it your favorite?”

“Because I’m Lilo and my mom is Nani,” Wonwoo explains. “We’ve only ever had each other.” He closes his eyes, recalling the time he first watched the movie with his mom. After sifting through channels on their new television set, a young Wonwoo caught a glimpse of Stitch crash landing on the tropical island of Hawaii. From there, his interest was piqued.

He begged his mom not to switch the channel, forcing her to sit through the movie with him. As soon as the social worker took away Lilo, he asked his mom if someone would take him away since he didn’t have a dad anymore.

The memory is embedded in the deepest and warmest part of his mind – his mother holding him close, the fondest expression in her eyes, assuring him that she would never allow anyone to take him from her. She pointed to Lilo’s older sister on screen, Nani, promising him that, just like her, she will cross mountains and valleys for her loved ones. 

Hearing her words enticed him to finish the movie in her embrace, a newfound appreciation welling inside of him.

“That’s an adorable reference, Wonwon,” he teases but tone tender.

The younger can only nod, blissed out by the memory. When he comes to, he realizes they’re nearing the edge of campus grounds. “I can guess yours are the Ghibli films you mentioned.”

The older hums. “I’m glad you can remember it even though you’re drunk.”

Wonwoo groans, still in denial. “I might possibly be drunk – I’m not – but it’s hard to forget a _cultural reset_ ,” he mocks, imitating the older’s voice.

“They are! You would see why if you watched one of them,” he beams, taking no offense from the impression.

He can’t help but smile at the determination. “And I will watch them,” he vows. “As long as you can tell me why you like them so much.”

The carrier scoffs, “Alright, but you’re watching Spirited Away with me for this.”

“I promise.” He crosses Junhui’s heart, unable to reach his own. The older startles at the motion, regaining his composure quickly. Wonwoo thinks he can spot a blush, but it might be just a traffic signal.

“The sisters in the orphanage controlled everything we saw on television. It had to be either religious content or afterschool specials all the time. Eventually, we all got sick of rewatching the same ‘don’t lie or cheat’ message over and over, so one of the older kids snuck in these CDs from the local video store.” 

A grin forms as Junhui recounts the tale, Wonwoo’s stomach fluttering alight. He hopes it isn’t another vomiting fit. 

“We’d all stay up past curfew and watch the movies together, huddling up under one large blanket. I always remembered the Ghibli movies because it was the first time I saw magic on-screen. And not the Jesus-redeemed-the-world kind, but authentic magic. All of us would watch in awe, trying our hardest not to wake the sisters up,” he chuckles, echoes reverberating between their connected bodies. “It was at this time when I grew to appreciate how close I was with my housemates.”

 _Close_. He’s unsure if he understands the word beyond its dictionary definition. Pure knowledge was insufficient; there were so many words that had to be felt to be understood. What did it feel like to be close to another person? Apart from the physical and in the realm of emotions and connections.

To receive as much as one gives. To confide in them in a language of signs and rhetoric recognized only by them. To have a person to trust with a part of oneself, holding a part of theirs in return. Did he have someone he was close to?

Immediately, his mom materializes. The one who sealed all his wounds when he got hurt, grew up alongside him, and held her arms open for him. She would be the closest to the mark, even if it were miles away. For he isn’t close with her, not in the way he knows he should be.

As proof, there was a part of him that he could never share with her. Because, if he did, he might just lose the only open arms that he could confidently run to. Fear silences and self-preservation binds him to die with his secret.

If his personal experience bank was dry, maybe he can explore his own observations. This night alone presented plenty. Seulgi and Jihoon with their playful humor. Soonyoung and Chungha with their aggressive saliva sharing. Mingyu and Junhui with their closeness.

 _Right_. He had almost forgotten about that moment until he recalled the evening’s festivities. What a glutton for punishment.

“Wonwon, are you still awake?” A nudge kicks him out of his reverie. “I said it was your turn now.”

As it stands, his brain was devoid of icebreakers. Only a loop of their two faces approaching each other tormented him. Resolve slipping and emptying his doubtful conscience, he blurts out his worries. “Do you like Mingyu?”

“What do you mean?” Junhui clarifies, voice unbelieving. “Of course, I do. He’s my friend,” he affirms.

“No, I-I mean…” He sucks in a breath, hoping he doesn’t fumble. “Do you like- _like_ him?” It comes out as a whisper, almost like he’s afraid to be heard.

Junhui freezes, immobilized. Together, their hearts quiver, but for different reasons it appears. The older is wound up so taut, Wonwoo worries he might snap if the former clings on any longer. The silence returns, Junhui too astounded to advance. A poignant sting pricks at him, mood deflating like a balloon.

They carefully regain their pacing. A reply doesn’t come, but to him, the answer is clear. His eyes sting.

“I understand,” he chuckles wetly. 

The older sighs, slumping his shoulders a fraction. “Wonwoo, I-“ Interrupted by faint sniffles, he inspects his companion. “Why are you crying?”

“What? I’m not!” Hiding his face from the other, he frisks his cheek. Sure enough, a warm liquid trails onto his fingers. Why was he crying? He wipes them off with the back of his hands, stifling the next wave with a deep breath. “Your hair got into my eyes, that’s all,” he reasons out, hoping the outlandish response will shift the topic.

“My hair?” He laughs, lacking humor. 

Wonwoo twirls the frayed locks, haphazardly poking out of the short ponytail. “Mm, it almost pierced my eye.”

Shimmying his head, Junhui attempts to undo the tie. “Let me just fix it then.” He lowers the koala, reaching to redo the knot. 

To avoid disrupting, Wonwoo steers clear, now by the other’s side. The stagnancy of his earlier position made him lose the feeling in his legs and the blunt migraine blended his brain to pulp. A fierce breeze threatens to knock him over, but he stands his ground, deflecting the urge to seek support from Junhui. He really doesn’t want to be next to him right now.

A couple of minutes pass, signaled by the changing stoplight nearby, and Junhui groans in defeat, hair unraveled and disheveled. “Never mind,” he sighs. “This is honestly more challenging than college chemistry.”

Wonwoo performs a quick once-over, mind hazy and uncomprehending with how his roommate can still look dashing at the end of a party. “Maybe you should cut it then,” he jests. “You’d look nice with shorter hair.”

There’s a flint of something in Junhui’s eyes, but he blinks it away before Wonwoo can figure out its intention. “Really?”

Wonwoo shrugs, eyes pointed at the holes on his shoes. In all honesty, Junhui would look handsome no matter what haircut he sports, but now is not the time for that confession. With his misdirected gaze, he misses the blush on his roommate’s face.

Junhui shakes his head, grinning, gesturing to his back again and instructing, “Let’s get a move on, drunky.”

“It’s okay. I can walk from here, hyung.” He pockets his hands, concealing his tremors. From here, his dorm was only a couple blocks away. “You’ve done enough for me,” he babbles venomously. 

“Oh.” His expression evens out, lips a flat line again. Completely unreadable. A deep part of him wants to backtrack, but his pride is sinking its teeth deep into his heart. “Alright then.”

His roommate is the first to turn on his heels and he trails behind, leaving a reasonable social distance between them. Wonwoo can count the number of footsteps between them. Exactly and constantly nine.

Saturday night in the city, still expectedly loud and booming, filled to the brim with excitement. Wonwoo wants to be mesmerized by the sight, but his thoughts and regrets fill up every gap in his reasoning. Falling from cloud nine was never a pleasant feeling, but being on the cold and merciless ground again was worse.

With alcohol in his system, it was easy to dilute his apprehensions out of mind. To pretend he could be normal for a day, a college student who parties with his friends and comfortably talks to women. That maybe he could blend in for once. But all he’s learned was the fact that he hates parties and can hardly stomach booze. Meeting women still terrified him and curled his toes in the wrong way. Perhaps a piece of him went out tonight to disprove a discovery he made before, to prod at his heart’s compass to know its true direction.

Yet, at the end of the night, it continues to point the same way.

Wonwoo doesn’t dare peek up, following the shadow and its nine-footstep distance. Being close proved too fatal, his body reacting overly vulnerably and heat flaring his cheeks. It was worrisome, really.

He didn’t need that, and he shouldn’t want it.

 _I should’ve stayed at home_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY WONHUI DAY, EVERYONE!!! (*≧ω<*)人(*ゝω≦*） I wish you all the love and fluff that Wonhui gives us!
> 
> If you were wondering if I waited for this day to release this chapter - I did not... It took me this long to write a party chapter because I have never actually been to an actual college party. Forgive me if some of the situations seemed too over-the-top or cliche. (╯_╰)
> 
> I didn't intend for there to be Seokhao, but it's there and I have no regrets. At least we know now what the deal is with Mingyu! But is that everything? ๏̯͡๏
> 
> Love you all to the Moon Junhwi and back! (✿◠‿◠)
> 
> P.S. I just learned that some of you might be receiving notifications when I edit chapters. (◕﹏◕✿) If ever you receive some in the next few days, that is because I am fixing my poor sense of grammar and updating the text messaging format. I do apologize for the confusion. (╥_╥)


	6. Vitamin D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mentions of the plot of 'Spirited Away'. If ever you haven't seen the movie and don't want to be spoiled, you can skip the section that begins with "This is Netflix?" and proceed to the next. Thank you!!!

It’s an ocean of light. Endless waves of white washing over his field of vision.

Slowly, his eyes adjust to the scenery, the colors cascading like drops of ink. Blue, green, yellow.

Figures and shapes contort and form. Curves even out, lines begin to make sense, and the landscape blends.

He’s in the field again. Nothing he hasn’t seen a million times. Everything is familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Like disassembling a puzzle to put back together. Each piece resembles the last, yet it all remains distinct.

That’s when he sees it. The last piece of the puzzle, the last remaining drop of white.

He treads through the grass, careful not to disturb the peace. Cicadas ring in his ears; the sound of silence.

He approaches the blotch with caution. His fingertips tingle uncontrollably, tremors intensifying. He knows what comes next. A part of him always wanted to skip this section, but the haze wouldn’t end until he bore through it.

 _Deep breaths_. Resolved, he accepts his fate.

One touch is all it takes. Instantly, the blotch morphs and twists, the most disturbing shade of red bleeding from the center towards the edges.

This isn’t the first time he’s seen it happen, yet he can’t help the goosebumps that form and the uncontrollable pounding of his heart.

With the metamorphosis completed, he thoroughly examines the figure for good measure. Though, the subject was always the same.

“Dad?” His voice is so small and squeaky that he almost scares himself.

The body spread out on the field is unresponsive. The chest heaves rapidly, a sign of life. _But for how long_?

From here, he was a mere bystander in his own sequence. Without thinking, he kneels and prods at the immobile body.

Once, twice, thrice. Nothing.

“Dad? Are you awake?”

Silence.

“Mom said we shouldn’t fall asleep on the fields. It’s too hot out here!”

Silence.

“Come on, dad. We have to head back now. Mom made fried chicken for lunch.”

Silence.

Primal instincts take over. He shakes the body rapidly, with as much force as he can muster. “Dad, please say something. You’re scaring me!”

The words stir the lifeless man. The movements are minute, as if doing so was insurmountable. His eyes dart around, troubled. When their gazes meet, he exhales with relief. “Where did you go, my son?”

“I didn’t go far,” he exclaims, words hurried. “I was only over there by the flowers and then I followed the butterfly-“

The man shakes his head, gaze fond despite his state. “It’s alright. I’m not mad,” he explains. His dad struggles to move, barely able to hold his wrist. He rubs at his son’s pulse point, forcing the other to look at him. “Please go home and find your mom, okay? Tell her to come find me.”

He stares straight into his dad’s eyes, unable to read anything. “What’s wrong, dad? Why can’t you move?”

“Please,” he pleads between labored breaths, voice hoarse. “Find your mom. Everything will be fine.”

The words do nothing to ease the queasiness in his stomach. “No! I can’t leave you here.” He hugs the body only to recoil back, almost burned with how hot the older’s skin was.

Finding his son’s hand again, he laces their fingers together. The size difference is alarming and comforting at the same time. “I will be okay, Wonwoo.” The hold is pointed yet his eyes are affectionate. “We’ll eat your favorite meal together later and I’ll read to you before your afternoon nap.” He pads his son’s hand with a thumb before letting go. “But now, I need you to find your mom for me. Can you do that, bean?”

He nods quickly, rushing to get on his feet. About to head out, he looks back once. His dad is still looking at him, gesturing for him to proceed.

“It’s okay, my son,” he guarantees with a soft smile. With a shaky voice, he follows through, “Everything will be okay.”

It was the confirmation he needed. His dad always kept his promises.

Almost always.

He turns on his heels, running through the tall stems that surround him. He keeps an arm in front of his face, careful not to let the blades cut his skin.

Free of the crowded wildlands, he rushes through the plain. At this distance, his house was only a small rectangle, but he knows the stretch isn’t too far. He can make it back in five minutes, three even if he pushes himself. His dad needed him, and he couldn’t let him down.

His heart hammers in his chest from worry and overexertion. He can feel his speed decreasing, but it doesn’t stop him.

From here, he knows the progression. The overbearing sun, the field of olives, their cows. He sucks in a breath, ready for the impending injury.

As expected, his ankle buckles as he falls into the rice paddy. He’s covered in liquid, searching for solid ground to resurface. There was still more to come, and he wanted to get it over with.

Except, he only continues to sink. There’s no mud or plants to grasp onto. It was as if he fell into a lake.

He descends gradually, thrashing around to search his surroundings for a saving grace. His broken ankle strikes a nerve, sending waves of excruciating pain throughout his body.

He gasps in shock, releasing the small amount of oxygen he had reserved. The light begins to fade, and a frost overcomes his senses.

Attempting to breathe, he drinks in the fluid that weighs him down. A sick flavor strangles him. It was familiar, but he couldn’t put a finger in it. Only when his throat burns does he recognize the fluid.

 _Vodka_.

He spits out the liquid only for more and more to enter his mouth. Soon enough, he’s full of it, every available cell doused in alcohol.

 _What can I do_? _This can’t be the end of the line_.

The lack of oxygen subdues his muscles, brain arrest of thought. His consciousness wanes as his eyes are filled with darkness.

On the verge of passing out, he senses a grip on his wrist. There’s a soft tug at first, almost like a confirmation. After a beat, the clasp tightens, pulling at him forcefully.

The rush sends him reeling and the haze dissipates.

**Jeon Wonwoo**

A Thousand Things Wrong with Alcohol, a list by Jeon Wonwoo.

1\. It’s expensive.

2\. It tastes horrible.

3\. It’s cliched and dull.

4\. It does not make human interaction easier.

5\. Did I mention it tastes horrible? It tastes horrible.

6-1000. It gives you the worst headache ever.

A thousand reasons as promised.

**Mom** ❤

Did you make it home safely?

**Jeon Wonwoo**

Yes.

**Mom** ❤

And you’re not hurt in any way, shape, or form?

**Jeon Wonwoo**

I guess I have a hangover, but that’s it.

**Mom** ❤

Well, all that matters is that my bean is safe and harm-free.

**Jeon Wonwoo**

What about my one thousand reasons?

**Mom** ❤

👍

He puts away his phone, settling back into his arm nest with a disgruntled humph. All the ingredients of regret were all set and boiling away in his cauldron of a skull. The piercing headache, the endless ringing, and the buffalo-sized urge to pass out. A perfect concoction if he could say so himself.

That is if perfection actually meant horrendous.

The welcome bells ring, stirring him awake. Not that he was near sleep anyways considering how Jihoon was ensuring the former was awake, poking him on the side every few minutes. And that would be the worst part of a hangover, he surmises. How selectively perceptive he is in this state. Selective being how he can hear and feel every passing sensation like it was right next to him, but how he couldn’t differentiate the garbage bin from his shoes when they left for the coffee shop.

After waking up half-past noon, Wonwoo was more than surprised to see Jihoon in his dorm room, a bowl of hangover soup and an electrolyte drink by the younger’s side. The sober one explained how Junhui was nursing Minghao and that Soonyoung was out with Chungha, leaving Jihoon as the only candidate to look after him.

Which is how they ended up in the coffee shop. Seeing how none of their three-in-one coffee blends would dispel his hangover, Jihoon suggested (though ‘forced’ would be more accurate) that they order drinks with higher caffeine contents in them. It appears, however, that every other student had the same idea since the establishment was filled like sardines in a tin can. By virtue of Jihoon’s deadly gaze, they were awarded a table after a couple of firsties _willingly_ offered it to them.

Every sound was horns and cymbals, like his receptors were dialed all the way up to eleven. He would block out the unabashed noises all around him with his hands, but that only magnifies the incessant ringing in his ears. Jeon Wonwoo couldn’t catch a break.

Settled and in a rest interval from Jihoon’s poking assault, Wonwoo wracks his head for information. He couldn’t recall much of the evening past aside from the loud, loud music and the lingering taste of alcohol. From what he can make out, his cognizant evening ended when he made amends with Mingyu. The rest of the evening was guided by his drunken auto-pilot mode, memories a fuzzy blur.

He’s unsure how he magically ended up back in his dorm room, on Junhui’s pullout nonetheless, but at least he didn’t crash in Mingyu’s suite. After that evening of crossed personal lines, a part of his dignity was appeased and was spared from the rumor mill.

Speaking of gossip, did he mention Jeonghan was also there? Because of course he was.

“The beauty of the first-year welcoming party is not the party itself,” the blonde expounds, mindlessly carding through Wonwoo’s hair, “but the aftermath! It’s a horde of zombies and walk-of-shame victims all seeking refuge under caffeine’s wings. And that’s not the funniest part!”

“The funniest?” Wonwoo mumbles between his arms.

“Yeah, watching the baristas attempt to hold the line is like a sitcom in real life!”

He bats an eye to the counter, careful not to disrupt his newfound equilibrium. Sure enough, Chan was up, front, and center, looking way past annoyed with eyes that scream ‘murder’. In the few minutes Wonwoo observed the barista at work, Chan successfully served dozens of customers without a hitch. Although he appeared more than ready to throw searing hot milk at the next customer that asked for the directions to the nearest Starbucks or if the coffee shop also doubled as a pharmacy.

Leaning back on his chair, Jeonghan chuckles. “Channie really deserves a raise.”

“Or they could just stop letting the drunk people in,” Jihoon weighs in.

“Now that they can’t do. It’s against their policy.” The older points to a decorated sign by the counter. “’ _As long as you hand over the cash, you can stay here until you crash_.’ That’s why all the students love this place. You can order the cheapest thing off the menu and they’d still let you pull off an all-nighter.”

Scanning the décor once more, Wonwoo notices the number of signs littering the walls. Each one has an inspirational quote or house rule inscribed on the wood, perfectly blending in with the theme of the coffee shop. “Explains why this place is never empty then.”

Jeonghan hums. “This place is a student apocalypse come exam season. Lucky for me, I’m basically a Lee sibling at this point, so I always have a table,” the blonde boasts, smirking.

Jihoon scoffs while stirring his coffee. “I hope your family tree doesn’t include me in it.”

“Hey! It would be an honor to be related to me. Don’t you want a share of my beautiful hair genes?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how genetics works.”

“Well, your parents were probably very pleasant people and yet they came to make such an audacious whippersnapper such as yourself.” The eldest crosses his arms in presumptuous victory. “How’s that for genetics?”

The music lover simply rolls his eyes, returning to his coffee and refusing to acknowledge the scientific inaccuracy.

Jeonghan grins as if he’d won the lottery. Though silencing an already silent Jihoon wasn’t much of a consolation prize. “So, tell me, my favorite dongsaeng,” he minces his words, seasoned and ready to grill Wonwoo for gossip, “how did you enjoy your first blowout here at Sungkyunkwan?”

“I’m your favorite dongsaeng?” he inquires half-heartedly.

“At this table, yes.”

“There’s only two of us here.”

“Oh, believe me. You’re lightyears away from grumpy and unfeeling Jihoonie over here.” Jeonghan points with his thumbs, obtaining another eyeroll. Sometimes, Wonwoo wonders how Jihoon’s eyes haven’t rolled off entirely with how irked he constantly seemed to be. “And you’re dodging the question, Jeon Wonwoo!”

He grunts at the accusation, hiding once more. “Maybe I’ll tell you when I’m your actual favorite,” he propositions between folded arms.

The eldest gasps as if personally offended. “No one can _ever_ take Channie’s place in my heart!”

“Then why don’t you ask Chan how he spent his Saturday night?” Jihoon suggests pointedly.

“You hush! This doesn’t concern you,” he states, covering the youngest’s face with a palm as if doing so would make him less of a disturbance. “Come on, flatter me, will you? Nothing exciting ever happens when you start ascending year levels.”

“How come, hyung?” Wonwoo inquires. “Didn’t you attend the first-year welcoming party, too?”

“Me? I’m too old for that kind of crowd,” Jeonghan explains. “When you’re my age, you learn to appreciate that party from a third-person perspective. Watching the misery of drunken firsties on a Sunday morning is its own cup of coffee.”

He nearly cracks a smile before he realizes that he’s another item in the group file for drunken firsties that the blonde apparently takes delight in scrutinizing. Any sense of joy in his lips slowly melted away into a remorseful frown.

“At least tell me where you went last night,” the eldest pleads.

“Mingyu’s suite,” the music lover reluctantly responds. “Are you appeased now?”

“Nope,” Jeonghan denies, only slightly appeased. “Also, _the_ Kim Mingyu?” His eyes widen into saucers at the confirmation. “Fancy stuff. Must have been quite the art gallery opening over at the billionaire’s suite.”

 _A billionaire_? Wonwoo nearly chokes on his spit. He always had a feeling Mingyu was well-off, if the authentic branded clothing and equipment were any indication, but never did he imagine to that extent. The only billion Wonwoo had was a billion regrets, and he’s fairly certain that no one accepts that as valid currency.

A feeling of inferiority balloons inside him, only to be burst in an instant. The two of them already cleared the air, there was no point in polluting it again because of his insecurities.

“Well, I didn’t get to relish in the kid’s luxurious living space,” the youngest deadpans. “I was already home before midnight.”

“Booooo! You’re no fun!” The eldest (in age and, evidently, not in maturity) throws a crumpled straw wrapper at Jihoon who simply rolls his eyes. “Who leaves a party before midnight?” When both firsties raise their hand, Jeonghan turns to the drunker of the two. “Interesting… Where were you during Cinderella’s hour, dear?”

“At another party with a friend,” he replies, although slightly too hurriedly. This tale was saved well in his memory. The fake story was easy to formulate – he left with Seulgi for a different party (and _not_ for sex), they hung out for a bit as friends, then he went home. It was simple and didn’t invite questions regarding his whereabouts or sexual intercourse.

The ambiguous pronoun excites the blonde, his eyes flaring with potential gossip material. “This is getting juicy! Who is this friend of yours, my child?” His playful grin beams with mischief, so Wonwoo selects his next several words carefully.

“Soonyoung set me up with his date’s friend, Seulgi.” As if sensing Jeonghan’s follow-up question, he clarifies, “And nothing happened between us. We both agreed to stay friends, so don’t get any ideas please.”

“Alright, I’ll put the kid gloves back on.” The eldest slumps back on his chair, arms crossed. “I knew I should’ve hung out with Dahyun and Sana for the post-party fanatics.”

“What happened with them, hyung?” He remembers the girls sneaking out with their stowaway booze and he can’t help but sigh. Those two were always coming up with the strangest plans.

“I don’t know, but I can guarantee you it was more entertaining than your _thrilling evening_ ,” Jeonghan finger-quotes. He flits an eye towards the counter before getting up. “Line’s finally clear. Do you killjoys want anything? A juice box or a mini-muffin?” the eldest halfheartedly offers, a pointed finger switching between them.

Jihoon arches an eyebrow. “Is it for free?”

“Well-“

“Then no.”

Jeonghan sticks his tongue out then exaggeratedly imitates the music lover while babbling. A true show of adulthood. As soon as the blonde was by the counter, Wonwoo chuckles under his breath. Despite his dull headache, there was a profound amusement in his companions’ banter.

He rests his chin on folded arms, scanning the coffee shop. The crowd thinned out somewhat, making it easier for the distinct coffee aroma to pour through. He thanks his strong sense of smell for the instant caffeine boost. Just as he contemplates taking a short nap, Jihoon pokes him once more.

“I wasn’t going to sleep!” he protests, groaning at the harsh prod. As the victim faces the perpetrator, he notices the intent and pointed stare focused on him. “What?”

Jihoon further intensifies his gaze before shifting it to his phone, fingers scrolling across the screen. “I didn’t peg you as a liar.”

The accusation erects his posture, his eyes searching the music lover’s face for answers. “W-what do you mean?”

“I know you weren’t at another party with Seulgi.”

Wonwoo feigns disbelief, opening his mouth to oppose, but the unamused expression on Jihoon’s face is enough for him to cut the crap. He was a terrible liar anyways. “How did you know?”

Silent as ever, Jihoon presents the contents of his phone. On screen is Seulgi’s Instagram profile, the same one he went through with Soonyoung the week prior. A click on her display picture reveals a mirror selfie of the woman in question. She’s in an oversized university hoodie and is smiling through some kind of cosmetic face mask.

He doesn’t grasp the stalking until he focuses on the spot Jihoon’s finger is tapping. _The time stamp_. The photo was taken at 11:09 PM. A touch on the screen and the next photo flashes. 11:14 PM. Another touch. 11:17 PM. It goes on for several more photos, each one recounting Seulgi’s nighttime routine.

Definitely not the party he claimed to attend with her.

The liar presses his face against the table, surrendering. “How do you guys know each other again?”

“We’re in the same program,” the younger explains, tucking his phone away.

“Oooh,” he nods. That would explain the hair caressing and friendly chitchat between the two.

“So, why did you lie?”

“Um, well-“ How could he possibly explain the antipathy that pierced his heart at the sight of Mingyu and Junhui together that made him want to run off? Heck, he didn’t even know how to explain it to himself. Thoughts like these made him want to pound his brain into mush. For now, he settles for a white lie. “I just wanted to go home.”

If his companion could read him, he doesn’t show it. Instead, Jihoon sighs. “Why didn’t you say so then? We could’ve gone back together.”

“I don’t know,” Wonwoo concedes. “It felt rude to leave when Soonyoung went through all the effort to pair me up with Seulgi.” A truth, that being one of the reasons he went to the party in the first place.

“Look, Soonyoung will drag you into some of the weirdest activities and it’s in his nature to include his friends. I should know, I grew up with him.” The younger offers a rueful smile. “But he will understand if you feel uncomfortable with his antics. He means well, but sometimes he gets lost in the moment that everything else blurs out of the picture. That’s when you need to be honest with him or keep him in the loop, yeah?” He sips on his coffee, grunting at the taste. “And if he’s still too out of it, let me know. I’ll knock some sense into him.”

Wonwoo doesn’t know how to respond to that. So far, he had only seen two sides to Jihoon – the quiet side and the exasperated side – the latter being directed solely to Soonyoung. The blunt and, dare he say, affectionate side strikes him differently, like Jihoon had borrowed it for this conversation alone.

This time, it’s clear that Jihoon can read him. He schools his expression, perching his chin on joint knuckles as he locks his gaze on Wonwoo. “You can tell me anything, you know?”

He frowns, unperceptive of the other’s intentions. “L-like what?” He unconsciously gnaws at his bottom lip, his breathing hitched at the illumination behind Jihoon’s stare.

Instead of responding, Jihoon simply chuckles. Another unfamiliar action from him. “Just keep it in mind.” The younger pulls out his phone and types away, as if the previous exchange never happened.

Wonwoo flops his face back down on the table. Why was everyone being so cryptic these days? It was like they were all in on a secret he wasn’t a part of. He’s by no means a gossipmonger, but one can only hold out for so long before the paranoia creeps up and warps one’s sanity.

And what bothered him even more were the looks. Dahyun, Seulgi, and now, Jihoon. Each one had this _look_ directed at him and he couldn’t read any one of them. They were all expectant to a degree, as if waiting for him to make his next move.

Except he doesn’t exactly know what they hope his next move will be. He barely knows what he’s having for his next meal, so how could he possibly fulfill their expectations?

He spends the next few minutes contemplating how to reinforce his stoic face when the chair in front of him creaks. If it’s Jeonghan, recharged with caffeine and ready to squeeze him out for more gossip, he doesn’t want to find out. Besides, the table was good company. Definitely didn’t ask him ambiguous questions or send him obscure looks. Solidarity in the cedar wood.

Only when Jihoon pokes at his side does he sit upright once more. That’s exactly when the universe gives him his daily dose of sobering surprises.

Sitting in front of him is not his upperclassman but his roommate. Not only that, apparently. His roommate with a new hairdo. Wonwoo’s eyes round out at the sight.

Gone is the overgrowth that may have hidden new species of avian creatures. What remains are expressive strands cut just along his eyebrows. Like this, Junhui’s cheeks appear rounder and fuller yet his jawline remains as sharp as before. Without the long hair to mask his neck, Wonwoo sees how proportionate the other’s body is. Broad shoulders, bold facial structure, striking cat eyes.

And then it hits him again.

“Your hair… is brown,” he points out. The shade is closer to a bright chestnut color, but Wonwoo can’t help but remember the boy’s auburn irises when he sees it. It’s rustic despite its freshness. At this point, he knows he’s gaping, but he allows himself this one moment of reprieve. He’s holding his breath, and he blinks several times to confirm the sight.

Junhui smiles at Wonwoo’s observation. “Thank you for noticing. So, um,” he drawls out, looking at a point behind the lost boy. He almost looks shy. “What do you think?”

A blush boils over, warmth spreading all around. “I-it looks nice.” The understatement of the year. From where his vocabulary fails him, he nods instead. In his head, a thousand adjectives fathom: enchanting, brazen, gleaming, natural, dazzling. But again, all he can say is, “Nice. Very nice.”

“I think we’ve established that, but the words are flattering. Might I suggest using a different adjective though,” Junhui smirks, brushing the strands out of his eyes and Wonwoo swears it glitters under the light.

“Well, t-too bad; that’s all your getting out of me.” He nudges his seatmate. “Why don’t you ask Jihoon what he thinks?”

The referral causes Jihoon to look between them, disinterested. “What?”

“Junnie’s hair. Your thoughts?”

His seatmate barely spares a glance before tinkering with his phone again. “Wow, it looks amazing, hyung,” he monotones. “I’m glad you no longer look like a murderer on the loose.”

He involuntarily snorts, avoiding the stink eye Junhui sends him.

“Yeah, well… you’re… your face is… shut up,” Junhui sulks and crosses his arms.

“What made you cut your hair?” Wonwoo asks, genuinely curious.

The other knits his eyebrows, explaining, “You did.”

“Me?” He doesn’t recall instructing Junhui to change his hairstyle, even if there were long strands lying everywhere in their dorm and it was slowly taking them over.

“Yeah, when I took you home last night, you said that-“ As if sensing Wonwoo’s confusion, he asks instead, “You don’t remember, do you?”

 _So, that’s how I got back_. Worried that his drunk-self revealed too much, he retorts, “Remember what? Said what?”

Junhui sighs, breaking an indulgent grin. Wonwoo wants to douse himself with coffee. “You really were out of it, huh?” Teasingly, he adds, “Let’s just say that you made promises I’m going to see through.”

“P-promises?” His face reddens, strange tingles buzzing about. “What kind of promises?” While he was unsure if Junhui was joking or not, he fears what other irreparable damage he might have inflicted to himself or to others.

“You’ll just have to wait and see then,” he caps off with a literal wink.

“What, I don’t-“

“Wen Junhui?!” Jeonghan yelps. He pays no mind to the on-lookers, dropping off his drink and scrutinizing the new hairstyle. “My little bird’s nest grew its wings and flew off. You look amazing, darling!”

“Thanks, hyung. I was a bit nervous about finally letting go of the extra inches, but it feels liberating.”

“Oh, tell me about it! I remember when I had long hair, it was a nightmare,” he chuckles. “The hassle of maintenance barely made it worth the compliments.”

The two reminisce about their long-haired days, giving Wonwoo the opportunity to adjust to the changes. By all means, Junhui is still Junhui. Textbook playful and bubbly personality pulsing out, but there’s a hint of bashfulness in the mix now. He sees it in the way the other nervously taps on the table, how he keeps adjusting his hairstyle. It’s an endearing sight, a humane aspect in an otherwise ethereal outward appearance.

In his examination, he failed to notice Junhui already looking back at him, their gazes locking for the briefest of moments. Despite the brevity, his heart gallops and there’s anticipation building inside him. The other runs his tongue on his bottom lip, Wonwoo’s eyes following the movement.

 _Magnetized_. Like there’s a string tugging at him, he leans forward by a breath, a toe to test the waters. Neurons fire uncontrollably and a thunderstorm brews, his brain in a cloud of electricity. Junhui blinks carefully, eyelashes fluttering, and the butterflies wreak their havoc.

A frantic current runs between them and, for all his self-control and caution, Wonwoo wants to know what it would be like to be electrocuted.

 _Poke_!

He shakes his head, sparks subdued. Jihoon raises both his eyebrows in inquiry, glaring at him with a questionable smirk. It was the _look_ again. Another expression he couldn’t answer. What move did Jihoon expect from him now?

Wonwoo demurely bows his head, tracing the patterns on the table with his finger. He’s not sure what came over him, like this sensation brushed over him for a twinkling. It was alien in his vernacular and foreign invaders had to be captured. When he looks up at Junhui, he’s absorbed in another conversation, no signs of their interaction anywhere.

Was it a figment of his imagination? He hates to think that his mind was playing dirty tricks on him in broad daylight. Deflated, he plants his face on the cool of the wood. _Slow breaths_. The jump in his heart recedes and the warmth pours out of him, the current faltering. Cupping his trembling hands out of sight, he concentrates on the rough sensations the table sends up.

He needed an insulator to keep him grounded, anyways.

_Maybe if I reverse this fraction, I can get_ -

Wrong.

 _So if I start with the given weight of the patient_ -

Wrong.

 _What if we consider this value as the daily dosage_ -

Wrong.

 _Perhaps_ -

Wrong.

 _I think_ -

Wrong.

 _This makes no sense_.

Correct.

He’s been staring at the same problem set for three hours now and all that circulates in his mind is pineapple. More specifically, the Urban Dictionary definition of pineapple because he’s also asking himself _why the shit is he not getting this problem set down_. It should be simple considering it’s the first of the bunch, but nothing is clicking.

These are numbers, something he’s been dissecting and breaking apart before he could even speak his first words. Wonwoo also prided himself as this mathematics savant when he breezed through calculus and trigonometry. He’d won enough academic decathlons and tournaments to claim with relative certainty that he was skilled in the subject.

Yet, here he is, trumped by stupid eleven-year-old Sehun and the amount of medicine he needs for a week. He ran the equations several times, mixing up the given and replacing the values just to see if he can come close to the answers Sana sent him, but no dice.

Sehun can go calculate this on his own for all he cares. Pharmacist Wonwoo is _done_.

It’s an infuriating experience. Answering his homework used to be euphoric, calming even. But that was when he understood the material. As it stands, he can barely interpret his own notes, so what chance did he have against aliquots and alligation methods?

All his professors were probably main rappers in their past lives and must have this subconscious urge to see their students fail. If they weren’t MIA, they were in a rush to leave, leaving no room for consultation and opening doors to senseless problem sets. Such as the current one he is eyeing with dissatisfaction.

Wonwoo would contend that the answers Sana accidentally shared in their legacy project text chain were incorrect, but, among the three of them, she would probably be the smartest in pharmaceutical calculations. While convinced that he didn’t need the answers, he found himself comparing three seconds later. Sticking to his convictions, indeed.

He doesn’t know where things went downhill. The examples on the material were simple enough and he could grasp the general concept, but suddenly, the problem set was written in this foreign language he couldn’t decipher. Self-studying took too much of his time, especially with his part-time job and the legacy project, so he resorted to a more cavalier technique. Thus began the rampage of incorrect answers and red correction marks.

It felt like a taunt, an ode to Wonwoo and his impending doom. If the questions at this point were a thorn to his side, the exam would no doubt drill right through him and run him dry.

He needed to get a grip. As much as he enjoys sulking, the problem set wasn’t going to answer itself.

Which is why he grips on his book and repeatedly bonks his head with it, hoping the material would magically rub off on him. As with Tinkerbell and her pixie dust, perhaps an aggressive approach was the key to success. Too engrossed in the information transfer, Wonwoo fails to catch his roommate staring blankly at him.

“When you said you were going to be ‘hitting the books’, this isn’t what I had in mind,” Junhui comments, taking the seat in front of him.

“You do anything you can when you’re desperate.” Opening on a random page, Wonwoo perches the book atop his head. All he needs to do now is squiggle around and he’s a certified bookworm. “How long were you standing there?”

“About ninety hilarious seconds,” the older chides. He seems chipper despite coming from his shift at the bookstore. Wonwoo would be too, but the universe employed him at the local minimart alongside hormonal teenagers, so he’s only borderline impartial at best. “You’re still working on the problem set?”

The bookworm grunts. “Yes.” He focuses on the skepticism on the other’s face. “What about it?”

“It’s not that difficult. I finished mine in a few minutes.”

“Whoop-ti-di-doo, congratulations to you,” he chants lifelessly.

“I’m not teasing you; I’m just surprised,” Junhui shrugs. “I thought you would nail pharmaceutical calculations.”

“Looks like you thought wrong.” He lands on folded elbows, book still balanced on his head. At least there was a pretense of balance somewhere else in his life. “Can I compare answers?”

“Do you plan on mooching off mine? You could have just been upfront about it,” the older quips, fishing through his backpack.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, refusing to respond and grabbing Junhui’s problem set. Just as he had feared, Sana and his roommate arrived at the exact same answers, down to the fourth decimal. Defeated, he hides his face in his arms. _What am I doing wrong_?

“Already memorizing the answers, I see. I should have paid for a scan then.” Junhui snickers, although it’s cut short. Prudence fills his voice when he asks, “Are you okay?”

 _Nope_. Nothing about this felt okay. “Why am I so stupid?” he mutters under his breath.

Maybe it’s how reproachful his position is or how small his voice came out, he’s not entirely sure. Either way, the sarcastic tone floats away when Junhui declares, “You’re not stupid.” The older’s warm timbre sounds convinced. “Now, saying you’re stupid; _that’s_ what’s stupid.”

Wonwoo cracks a smile despite himself, facing his roommate. “I just don’t know what I’m doing wrong. This is only the first problem set and I’m already messing up.”

“And that’s okay,” Junhui reasons out. “At least you know what to work on, yeah? Making mistakes and fumbles, it’s part of the learning process.”

“I guess… I just wish the learning process wasn’t so disheartening.”

“Then it wouldn’t be worthwhile.”

 _Nothing good comes easy_ , he ponders. That, at least, made perfect sense. Learning didn’t happen overnight, nor did it have a shortcut. Maybe he’d been so accustomed to absorbing the material so quickly that slowing down had become foreign. This indignation welling inside him was simply step one and, if he’s learned anything from his horrid nightmares, step two wouldn’t arrive unless he bore through the first. “When did you become so wise?”

Junhui smirks, the regularly scheduled teasing back in full swing. “I’ve always been wise, Wonwon. I just never had the chance to show it off.”

Another eyeroll. “I don’t know what I’m going to do about this,” he rumbles, pointing at his crumpled mess of a problem set. “I mean, where do I start?”

Picking up the paper, Junhui inspects the attempt. “You’re headed in the right direction. The formulas are there but you get lost somewhere in the middle.” The older contemplates for a moment before propositioning, “If you’d like, I can teach you pharmaceutical calculations.” A dark cloud forms in his eyes and Wonwoo fears for his life. “For a price, that is.”

 _Of course_ , it did. Living in the city taught him that everything was taxed. Even the public restroom had an occasional fee. Absurdity aside, he was desperate. “How much do you want? I don’t have a lot of money-“

“What?” Junhui is skeptical, clarifying, “I’m not going to fine you for lessons. What I meant was…” he trails off, sighing. “I was just thinking that… maybe we can…”

Luckily, Wonwoo isn’t a teasing piece of shit like him, so he doesn’t comment on the older’s flabbergasted state. He does, however, wait on the metaphorical edge of his seat. Watching the usually cocky expression on Junhui’s face turn flustered was a sight to behold.

Groaning, Junhui finally speaks his mind. “Go out with me?”

His eyebrows furrow, uncomprehending. He did _not_ expect that. “Like outside the dorm?” He blinks slowly, stunned by the unexpected question.

However, the older appears unfazed by his bewilderment. Junhui’s determined eyes are pointed directly at him, searching for something. He sighs and asks again, “Go out with me, Wonwoo?”

The gaze causes his heart to ricochet, hands quivering. “P-pardon me?”

Perhaps finally catching on, Junhui shakes his head rapidly, matching hands dismissing his words. “Ugh, that came out wrong! What I was trying to say was…” he exhales, blush blooming like Wonwoo’s. “Let’s have dinner first before we work on the problem set. You’ve been working on this for too long without any breaks.”

“Oh.” Allowing himself to breathe, he nods, heart rate relaxing. Resting made sense, a change in momentum being ideal. Although, he can’t pinpoint the sinking feeling in his stomach. _Hunger, perchance_? “I can do that. Mrs. Kang gave me this extra spice ramen the other day and-“

“That’s not exactly healthy, Wonwon,” Junhui scoffs, interrupting. “We only rarely eat out, so let’s make it count.”

“Then what’s your plan, oh great nutritionist?” Maybe Wonwoo did have a teasing side to him.

A quick twinkle glitters in the nutritionist’s eyes and he’s suddenly on his feet. “You’ll see.” He gestures to the door. “Come on!” Leaving no room for argument, Junhui, all bouncy and elated, stuffs Wonwoo’s equipment into the latter’s backpack and hauls him out of their dormitory.

“This is Netflix?”

Junhui hums. “And we’re chilling.”

And chilling they were. They had found their way back to the manmade river (named Cheonggyecheon, Wonwoo learned), at their exact spot from weeks before. In the veil of night, Wonwoo could forget he was in the city. The cicadas sung, the water flowed gently, and the blossoming greenery were all familiar. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine himself back at the village.

After indulging themselves with spicy hotpot in a restaurant Junhui deemed ‘Chinese-compliant’, the latter explained the gravity of the so-called ‘promises’ Wonwoo’s drunken twin made. Beginning from the vow to eating healthier food, Junhui continued to the agreement Wonwoo made to watch his favorite movies.

Which is how they ended up in their spot. Roaming almost aimlessly, he barely noticed their location until he heard the gentle flow of water. While he felt inclined to proceed with the problem set, Wonwoo was at the mercy of Junhui’s pacing. Given the submission date was still the following week, he figured the older didn’t think it was a priority assignment.

So, with great reluctance, he’s forced to sit and bite down the itch to work as Junhui pulls out ‘Spirited Away’ on his mobile device. Between a shared set of earphones and only the screen light to illuminate them, Wonwoo’s unsure of what awaits. At least Junhui was excited, fingers jostling as he surfs through the app.

“What’s this movie even about?”

Junhui bats an eye for a second, hyper-focused on swiping through Miyazaki’s collection. “About a girl who’s spirited away.”

“Thanks for the very _informative_ summary,” he deadpans.

The older snickers, a smile blooming. It’s been a few days since Junhui changed his hairstyle yet Wonwoo still can’t keep his eyes off the lustrous locks, intensified now when contrasted against the overcast light. “If I say anymore, it will give away the plot, Wonwon!”

“But isn’t it worse going into a movie without any expectations?” he argues, arching a brow. “It’s like entering a restaurant without knowing the menu or the cuisine. You won’t get the satisfaction you would normally get from fulfilling your conscious cravings.”

“Fine, point taken.” Sighing, he lowers the phone for a moment to think. “It’s the main character’s magical coming-of-age story. Keep an open mind and it might just surprise you,” Junhui proclaims with a mysterious flutter of his hands.

He chuckles, “That’s not exactly any better-“

“Ssshhh! It’s starting!” Junhui nuzzles closer, one hand lifting the phone to their eye level and the other planted on Wonwoo’s side, tugging on him.

The warmth of the touch nearly makes him shriek. Once more, he was breaking his bubble protocol. Strawberries drenched his olfactory receptors and their hoodies could form static electricity with their proximity. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, the heat climbing to his cheeks. Trying to conceal his stiff breathing, he devotes his concentration on the movie and not the faint thump in his ears.

On screen, the movie roars to life. Wonwoo has seen several anime pieces, but it was never like this. The smoothness of the lines, accentuated by the rich colors across picturesque provincial landscapes, along with the attention to detail fascinates him. Drawing his attention to the characters, he barely recognizes the subtitles flashing, invested solely in the art form seemingly coming to life.

For the first couple of minutes, he can hardly endure Chihiro’s petulant nagging, wishing that he could silence her somehow. However, the storyline does that for him as her parents transform into pigs and the night descends. Spirits begin to enter the playing field and the setting morphs out of thin air.

As Haku whisks Chihiro away and explains the rules of the new realm she was ‘spirited away’ to, he notices Junhui mumbling something under his breath. Initially sounding like gibberish, Wonwoo realizes soon enough he was mouthing the characters’ exact lines from the movie. He can’t help but grin, wondering how many times the older has seen the movie to memorize it word per word.

Around the halfway mark, Wonwoo is invested. His grip on the other edge of Junhui’s phone tightens as Chihiro (renamed as ‘Sen’, apparently) dashes through the onsen, only barely slipping from Faceless’ rage-induced clutches. Dangling by the edge of the water, his feet mimic her running speed as the encounter slowly fans out.

With the plot subdued for the time being, his sixth sense tingles. Turning to his seatmate, he confirms his suspicions when he spots Junhui inspecting him. There’s a point to the gaze, similar to the one Junhui gave earlier when he suggested they head out for the evening. Wonwoo feels tingly all over.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Junhui grins. “You just look adorable when you’re absorbed.”

He turns away, a palm resting on his cheek to hide the blush developing there. “You’re not watching the movie.”

“We’re not watching it for me, anyways.” Junhui inches closer by a fraction and Wonwoo nearly jumps into the river. “What did you think of-“

“Quiet! They’re talking!” Wonwoo nudges him away, breathing in deeply to temper his erratic heart rate. Fortunately, Junhui remains on his side for the remainder of the movie. Although, his sixth sense continues to pick up disturbances ever so often.

By the end of the movie, all he has are questions circling in his head. Though he enjoyed the animation, it felt too inconclusive for his liking and his curiosity was gnawing at him to ask.

“Wait, Junnie,” he taps at his seatmate with a sweaterpaw. “Do they get together?”

“Who?” Junhui faces his seatmate, leaving only the phone on to brighten their surroundings. The night was serene, save for the occasional screamer passing by on the streets above. Autumn leaves flowed down the river and a brisk wind inundated him, making him proud that he picked out a thick hoodie.

“Chihiro and Haku.”

“What?” he half-gasps. “Where did you get that from?”

He points at the screen, credits rolling. “The movie. It was hinting at their relationship from the first night alone.”

Junhui giggles, shaking his head. “Quite the imagination you have there, Wonwon. But it’s obvious they’re just friends.”

“That’s where I think you’re wrong,” he argues and Junhui looks absolutely offended at the accusation. He chokes down a grin, pushing forward. “They technically saved each other from Yubaba and they also had that intimate moment when Haku remembered his real name. Doesn’t it make sense for them to become a couple?”

“You know, friends can save each other, too,” the older argues, smirking. “Anyways, the movie ended with them as friends so it’s up to the audience to infer what happens next.”

Wonwoo slumps back, palms firm on the ground behind him. “Well, I say they will get together in the future.”

Laughing, Junhui pinches the younger’s cheeks, cooing the pout away. “That’s cute, Wonwon. I didn’t know you shipped them.”

“I don’t _ship_ them,” he retorts, swatting the grip away. The pinch leaves behind a red mark, helping to disguise blush from the contact. “I just don’t like open endings.”

“Are you one of those simpletons who feasts on happy endings?”

“Not necessarily,” he shrugs. “While it’s entertaining to fantasize about their whereabouts when the story closes, it’s as if there’s no closure in an open ending. I like stories having finality to them.” Frowning at the older, he adds, “And I’m not a simpleton.”

Junhui chuckles, hooking an arm around Wonwoo’s shoulder. “Fair point. But if you think about it, it’s not as open-ended as you think. Haku earns his freedom and Chihiro’s no longer a whiny child.”

“Her magical coming-of-age story,” he recalls.

“Exactly,” he hums. “Now you know why I couldn’t tell you the plot earlier.”

Wonwoo nudges him away again only for Junhui to recoil closer, the latter giggling at the failed attempt. “Your summary still sucked. The conclusion doesn’t work out the loose ends, though.”

“It doesn’t,” he echoes. “That’s why we have our imagination.” Junhui paints a palm rainbow and Wonwoo is obliged to roll his eyes. “Anyways, if we focus too much on the ending, we miss out on the character’s arcs. Which is kind of the point of movies, Wonwon.”

“I know that, I just…” Wonwoo will never admit it, but he is a sucker for happy endings. While he enjoys the literary freedom authors bend when composing their pieces, nothing could compare to the satisfaction of coming across a well-executed happy ending. A part of his brain just knows he’ll be dwelling on the ending of ‘Spirited Away’ for a while.

Junhui was right; he is a simpleton for happy endings.

A tap on his shoulder warps him back to reality. “Why are you sulking over there? Didn’t you enjoy the movie?”

“I did,” he confirms, nodding for good measure. “I just wanted a resolution with more finality to it.”

And, as if a switch were flipped, Junhui excitedly bounces on his seat, legs kicking from where it dangles. He scrolls through his phone, pupils dilating with wonder. “Then I’ll show you one with a definite happy ending.”

“Wait, what about the problem set?”

Barely sparing a glance, Junhui selects another movie. “We’ll get to that. For now, the teacher says movie time!”

“Come on, Junnie. It’s already getting late,” he whines. His skin tingles with an itch to be productive and he wishes more than anything to soothe it.

Just as the words leave his lips, a firm finger prods his chest. “Behave, student, or I will send you to the thinking corner! Now be a lamb and watch it with me.”

Wonwoo wants to be exasperated, but it’s difficult when the subject is this charming and determined. Pushing down the urge to smile and the need to work, he sighs and rolls his eyes instead. “Fine.”

“Yay!” Junhui beams, crowding him again.

Craning his neck away, he feigns annoyance, lips curving up like the traitor it was. The Studio Ghibli opening credits flash on-screen and Junhui mumbles along to the entrance song. How could he possibly say no to him?

In the corner of his eyes, he catches Junhui’s free hand jittering on his lap and there’s a tug on his heartstrings. Like gravity, there’s an unexplainable pull, a voice beckoning him.

 _Hold his hand_.

Concentrated, he notices the gentle tap of the fingers in beat with the music. The slender digits move almost independently of the owner and he wonders if he can control their actions with his own grasp.

As soon as the thought solidifies, it melts away as Junhui reaches for a fruit snack pack from his hoodie pocket. The movements quickly stop and Wonwoo is left to stare at the now still hand, another object in place.

 _What was that_ , he scolds his subconscious.

Breathing deeply, he redirects his focus to the screen. Junhui, overly captivated by the dancing animated animals flocking past, didn’t seem to notice his staring.

He’s not sure what these moments of weakness mean, nor does he grasp their occurrence and why it seems exclusive to Junhui. All he knows with certainty is that the feeling was never unpleasant.

Flustered and puzzled, Wonwoo rubs at his chest, skin feverish as his heart flutters (for reasons he has yet to understand). He allows himself to be coddled by his hyper roommate, composing his grip on the other side of the phone and thanking the darkness for obscuring his rosy cheeks.

They weren’t joking when they claimed that the Pharmacy Music Society was the bum organization of the college.

For all the ratty teen-comedy movies he’s seen (and he has seen a _lot_ ), he never imagined he would literally be sitting in the middle of the college quad, shaded by the massive sycamore tree, and strumming ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ for the president who haphazardly whistles through the tune.

But he digresses.

Unsurprisingly, as Jeonghan had previously reassured, all the applicants had passed the audition. Which is not saying much considering how only nine people signed on. For a more in-depth orientation, the members were divided into their respective sections.

Which is how Wonwoo discovered just how modest their college population was. The organization was sparse with their lone percussion member tapping on a cajon and the keyboard duo of Dahyun and Junhui playing a two-person piece. The several vocalists that appeared for rehearsal were largely outnumbered by the six vocal applicants, their group currently engrossed in a staccato warm-up.

And that leaves Wonwoo with the organization’s president, Jisoo. He was stunned to learn he was the only guitar-based aspirant this year. For what it’s worth, however, he comprehends now how fitting the upperclassman was for his position. After completing their five-minute orientation and brief overview of the organization’s standard repertoire, Jisoo proceeded to lie down on the grass, head cushioned by his messenger bag, and scribble on his clipboard. As carefree as he appeared, Jisoo made it a point to monitor everyone’s progress with a simple thumbs-up-thumbs-down system shared among senior members.

A laidback student to handle the equally easygoing organization. A match made in heaven.

“Are those application forms, hyung?” Wonwoo inquires, arranging the guitar back in its case.

Jisoo slumps his head back further to face the lowerclassman. “Hmm? Oh, yeah!” Setting away the clipboard, he twists his in place. “I didn’t know you could read English, Wonwoo.”

“Read and speak,” he adds, replying in the language of interest. “My mom taught me how.” It was one of his secret talents that soon proved useful for his international works class in high school. Though, he didn’t really need it all that much since-

“It’s for medical school; I’m applying to some back in the States.” Jisoo clears up. “Since graduation is right around the corner, it felt right to work on my applications early.”

Nodding, he pulls up his legs and props his chin on folded knees. “You’re not planning on pursuing a career in pharmacy?” he asks, curious.

“Nope.” With a firm shake of the head, Jisoo appears absolutely certain. “Pharmacy was always my pre-medicine course. In fact, a majority of my batch is aiming to enter medicine, too.”

“Really? I thought most of the students here aspired to become pharmacists in the future.”

The upperclassman laughs at that, like it was some ridiculous belief. “Where’d you hear that?”

He tightens the grip encasing his legs. While he knows the laughter isn’t directed at him, much rather at his statement, he can’t restrain the twist in his gut. “From the college orientation. Seungcheol hyung said that-“

“ _What_?” Jisoo positively guffaws. Had he not already been on the ground, he would have been falling off his seat right about now. Between bated breaths, he manages a response. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just that,” he wipes away a vagrant tear, “you shouldn’t exactly trust Cheol. Not to say that he’s a liar, but he used that same speech last year. Cheol is actually applying to the same medical schools I’m applying to.”

Wonwoo doesn’t know how to feel about that. On one side of the coin, he’s relieved that the striking first-year address was no more than a motivational pick-me-up for the new welcomes and not a decisive scare tactic applied to drive them out. To the same extent, however, there’s an anxiety in knowing that the students themselves didn’t really pursue pharmacy as a career, more so that it’s apparently laughable.

“I hope you don’t mind my asking,” Jisoo muses, “but are you also thinking of taking up medicine?”

“Um,” he ponders, averting the other’s gaze. “M-maybe… I-I don’t know.”

Sensing Wonwoo’s discomfort, Jisoo reaches out to where the former is curled up to offer a gentle pat. “Hey, that’s fine. I didn’t mean to pressure you. You’re just in your first semester. Heck, you haven’t even had your first exam yet!”

All he can muster is a meek nod, feeling no more self-assured than he was a moment ago.

“While you might feel unsure now, it doesn’t hurt to take preparatory measures for whatever goal you might have. When I was a first-year student, I entered a pre-medicine organization here on campus and attended the several seminars and training programs they offered. It really helped me envision what it would be like if I pursued medicine for my postgraduate studies.”

Sweet mercy, he feels pathetic. Among his ambitious classmates, he might be the only student without a concrete vision for himself. Entering Sungkyunkwan, Wonwoo pictured countless sleepless nights and drowning in an ocean of coffee to survive his college life. What he failed to anticipate was the getaway car for the events succeeding the tiring ordeal.

He misses the days when opportunities were the ones seeking him. When he didn’t have to row upstream to enter competitions or hike across mountains for academic recognition. Now, he’s a dime-a-dozen lightbulb in a field of lookalikes that shine just as bright, if not brighter, all in a fierce competition to stand out.

As much as he attempts to relax his overthinking train of thought, all he achieves is fanning the flames of his anxiety. He needs to get his plans sorted out and priorities organized.

In his own pensive miasma, Wonwoo hardly noticed Jisoo’s passage of wisdom. “– I’m not exactly a guidance counselor, so what do I know, right?” he snickers, packing up the clipboard. “Anyways, I have a date to run off to. Will you be alright here, Wonwoo?”

The immediate answer is a definite _no_ , but when has he ever been truly alright? “I’m good,” he replies, pursing his lips in a tight knit smile.

“If ever you have any inquiries, you have my number. It was nice getting to know you better and chatting in my native language for a bit.” He flashes a grateful grin, slinging his bag over his shoulders. “See you around, dude!” They share a brief wave before Jisoo casually strides out of the quad. Just as the upperclassman reaches the archway, he bumps into another messenger bag-clad student. Equipped with white in-ears and black tousled hair, class elite Choi Seungcheol repositions the victim while smiling sheepishly.

The two seniors chat for a moment, seemingly discussing org matters, before giggling into one another. Soon enough, Jisoo whistles back to the quad. Following his line of sight, Wonwoo catches Jeonghan quickly separating from the other vocalists to receive the message.

Jisoo points between himself and the student council president, followed by an ‘I’m-outta-here’ motion towards the exit. Seemingly understanding one another, Jeonghan gives an approving gesture. Only then do the seniors depart from the quad. Not of course without interlocking their hands.

Wait. _They’re holding hands_?

Knuckle per knuckle, palm on palm, Seungcheol’s thumb rubs over Jisoo’s and their motions cause the linkage to sway. It takes him a moment to realize, but this must have been the date Jisoo mentioned. Wonwoo avoids staring at their direction, as if he bore witness to something he shouldn’t have.

And there’s the urge again. To find the nearest crawlspace and hide. Or perhaps locate the nearest toilet and vomit. His skin crawls and a flutter in his chest threatens to incapacitate him.

A flash of blonde sparkles in the corner of his eye. Jeonghan is like concrete, transfixed in his last position and gaze locked on to where the couple last stood. For all the upperclassman’s allure and charisma, Wonwoo never would have thought to see a nearly expressionless Jeonghan.

Seeing his part of the meeting finished, Wonwoo arranges his belongings and returns the guitar to the organization’s storeroom. As soon as he shuts the door, he spots Junhui waving him over. He has his characteristic wide-mouthed smile plastered on, elbows leaning on the table behind him. Strangely, Wonwoo’s cheeks bloom, warmth spreading to his extremities.

In exchange for tutoring him on pharmaceutical calculations, Wonwoo offered to review Junhui on their college chemistry course. Initially declining the suggestion, the younger insisted on the lessons, even going as far as bribing him with free sweets from the minimart. Wonwoo felt his chest inflate with pride knowing Junhui’s weakness for snacks.

Wonwoo can almost smell the shift of scents from mint to strawberries when a firm arm hooks around his, spinning him around in a whirlwind.

“Come on, Wonwoo-ya. Let’s go to the faculty room,” Dahyun instructs, a cheeky grin flattening her eyes.

It takes a second for him to come to. “Oh, sure. Why didn’t you ask Sana, though?”

“Unnie’s still rehearsing with the other vocalists.” As if on cue, Seokmin belts out an inhumanely impressive note. She pouts with a puffy cheek. “Why? Do you have somewhere more important to be?”

“Not exactly, Junhui and I were just about to-“

“Well, Junhui-ya’s going to have to get in line,” she smirks, practically slamming their bodies next to one another. Facing the other pianist, she cups her mouth to call out. “I’m going to borrow Wonwoo for a bit. Be right back!”

Wonwoo can only offer the older an apologetic smile, gesturing to his clingy group member. Despite their close contact, he doesn’t feel the least bit apprehensive. After all, he’s grown used to the proximity whenever they tag-team to make transcriptions for their classes (Sana had ultimately given up the race, opting to scroll through her social media timelines as an alternative pastime during class hours).

Giggling, Dahyun drags him out of the quad, leaving behind what appears to be a displeased Junhui, if the piercing grimace were any indication. The sight is enough to send chills down his spine.

“What do you need me for again?” Wonwoo inquires, the pair now climbing the stairs. Late afternoons in the college building were arguably the best hour given the almost deserted environment. The absence of people helped him appreciate the Neoclassical imprint along the entablature and its subtle influences on the balustrade.

“A routine progress check for the legacy project,” she fills in. “We’ve been making decent progress and I wanted to make sure we’re headed in the right direction.”

He nods along, allowing himself to be hauled around. Perhaps the smartest decision their group made so far, aside from banning Sana from any library-related or silence-requiring duties, was electing Dahyun as their leader. Not allowing her age to become a performance factor, she rules them with a delicate iron fist. Meaningfully spamming their text chain, adding footnotes and annotations on their online file, updating their shared group checklist; she does it all.

Under his leadership, they would probably be on a literal sinking ship by now. Or, alternatively, in the middle of an unstoppable forest fire if the orange-haired beauty were in-charge.

“That reminds me. Don’t forget to inquire about the College of Social Sciences from that friend of yours,” she notifies. Turning the corner, they approach Yoochun’s office on the second floor.

“Jihoon?”

She shakes her head, a sly expression slashed across. “No, the pretty one you were talking to during the party.”

The mention of the first-year party makes him freeze. He can recall seeing the pair during their alcoholic escapades, but he wasn’t aware that they saw _him_ during his embarrassing attempt at being someone’s date. “How do you know Seulgi?”

“All the beautiful women know each other,” she points out, sheepishly lacing her fingers behind her. “We’re drawn to one another like a ferocious but gorgeous force of nature. That’s why Mother Earth is a woman, you know?”

Wonwoo musters up the energy to exasperatedly sigh. Exchanges with Dahyun were always taxing somehow.

Snickering, Dahyun bunches up his cheek and dodges the instinctual swat of hands. “Anyways, what matters is the history for the College of Social Sciences. Saves us from having to purchase their overpriced coffee table book.”

“I’ll ask Jihoon about it,” he guarantees, a mental note pinned for later.

“Wonderful! Give me a few minutes. Don’t go running off to that brown-haired eye candy of yours while I’m in there, alright?”

“Eye candy?”

The genuine confusion amuses the younger, leading her to fondly ruffle his hair. “You’re such a bumpkin, Wonwoo-ya!”

He rolls his eyes. “Please go talk to him already,” Wonwoo groans, knocking the door to usher her in. With the affirmatory signal, Dahyun enters the office with an ‘I’m-watching-you’ gesture sent his way before closing the door behind her.

Now that there’s a barrier between them, he clicks his tongue in grievance. He isn’t a bumpkin. Whatever that is. He searches the word up using the almighty Googler. _I’ll show her. I’m no_ \- _Oh. She’s right… I_ am _a bumpkin_. Frowning, he clears the search bar and tries again. _Eye candy_.

A blush forms faster than the speed of light. _She’s right again_ , he admits.

 _Ugh_! He drops to his haunches and readjust his glasses. As much as he enjoyed the language lesson, he isn’t going to accept a world where Kim Dahyun is always right. That would just make her insanely overpowered.

In the most magically inclined portion of his subconscious, he wishes for a cat to hiss at her. Just a light scare, no harm in mind. _Sweet, sweet revenge_.

Wonwoo closes the app and switches to his to-do list again. The number of unchecked boxes is an unpleasant sight that causes him to frown. Crossing a few off, such as the recent org meeting, he rearranges them in the chronological order he intends to accomplish them.

Midterm season was slowly creeping up on them. While it was still technically less than a month away, it felt too close for comfort. Sungkyunkwan University really knew how to drive the academic calendar car past acceptable speed limits. If he can sneak in a couple hours of advance studying, maybe he’ll be able to sleep easier at night. Though doing so would actually cost him precious sleeping time.

He mentally shrugs. It’s something he’s done a million times before; what would be different this time around?

All the welcoming speeches resonated the same ideas – that the first year is their adjustment year. Yet, he can’t shake off the mindset that he needs to ace the first set of exams to get the ball rolling. Momentum’s endless duress could catapult him into a secure position to ensure the safety of his scholarship, quite possibly even earn him positive recognition among his professors. The pharmacy heavens know how much that would help him right now.

The text notification sound bursts his thinking bubble. Wonwoo sighs at the new names the sender set, though he can’t say that he doesn’t enjoy them.

**Purrfect Catanova**

where did that wench take you?

I DEMAND ANSWERS!!! (੭ ˃̶̀ロ˂̶́)੭⁾

**Jeon Clawed Wonwoo**

Wench?

**Purrfect Catanova**

do i really have to spell it out for u?

**Jeon Clawed Wonwoo**

I suppose so considering how we’re not in the 1500s nor in a dodgy tavern.

**Purrfect Catanova**

sometimes i enjoy ur inability to comprehedn jokes

other times, i don’t

this is one of those latetr times

**Jeon Clawed Wonwoo**

Just say who you’re referring to, Junnie.

**Purrfect Catanova**

k i m d a h u n

**Jeon Clawed Wonwoo**

You misspelled her name.

Also, we’re just here on the second floor.

**Purrfect Catanova**

what are u doing there with her?

that fiend…

explain yourself, catwoo! ヾ( ·`⌓´·)ﾉﾞ

**Jeon Clawed Wonwoo**

She’s talking with Yoochun regarding the legacy project.

Which I’ve never actually seen you work on, by the way.

**Purrfect Catanova**

oh, rgiht

i should tell minghao that we should strat on it soon

**Jeon Clawed Wonwoo**

You mean to tell me your group hasn’t even started on it yet?

**Purrfect Catanova**

we formed groups, right?

i think that counts as a beginning

and we have mingyu with us, so we’ll be fine

**Jeon Clawed Wonwoo**

Ok.

**Purrfect Catanova**

why the cold response, wonwon? is someone jealous? (ΦωΦ)

cheer up there, champ!

u know you’re still my number one~

hello?

wonwon?

are u ingoring me?

jeon wonwoo, i’m giving u one minute to answer me or

or…

or i’m hiding all your books! !(•̀ᴗ•́)و ̑̑

**Jeon Clawed Wonwoo**

You wouldn’t.

Where would you even hide it in our shoe closet of a room?

**Purrfect Catanova**

in the cabinet above the kitchenette

it’s the perfect location bcos u never cook anything anyways LOL

**Jeon Clawed Wonwoo**

It isn’t perfect if you just told me where you’re hiding it…

**Purrfect Catanova**

it will be again when i stink up the cabinets with seafood stew

your ultimate kryptonite! (*•̀ᴗ•́*)و ̑̑

**Jeon Clawed Wonwoo**

You’re positively primeval.

**Purrfect Catanova**

i still think the spice closet is my best bet

you non-cooking, relies-on-me-for-lunch parasite! ๑`^´๑

**Jeon Clawed Wonwoo**

You wouldn’t even touch the spicy ramen I made a few nights ago.

What makes you think you’d eat a dish I’d make that requires actual skill?

**Purrfect Catanova**

it’s simple, foolish child!

for one, i didn’t eat it because it wasn’t spicy enough (you weakling! (°_°))

and two, i’d love to eat anything you make ;)

**Jeon Clawed Wonwoo**

Right.

**Purrfect Catanova**

are u seriously underestimating my appetite?

have u not seen my bag full of snacks?

**Jeon Clawed Wonwoo**

It’s not that. I think you’re just overestimating my ability to cook.

**Purrfect Catanova**

wathc me prove u wrong, wonwon ⌯’ㅅ’⌯

**Jeon Clawed Wonwoo**

What? This isn’t a competition.

**Purrfect Catanova**

definitely not a close one ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

so far, the ball has been in my court

so u need to choose ur next mvoe wisely

**Jeon Clawed Wonwoo**

Whatever you say.

**Purrfect Catanova**

for now, you have to come donw to the quad

seokmin is rapping and i might actually be dying

from laughter or second-hand embarassmnt, i’ll never know

**Jeon Clawed Wonwoo**

Sorry, give me a moment.

I’m still waiting for Dahyun.

**Purrfect Catanova**

u misspelled wench*

**Jeon Clawed Wonwoo**

Don’t you think she’s better suited as the heroine-in-shining-armor archetype?

**Purrfect Catanova**

idc about archetypes rn

i gave a direct order and, as your teacher, you have to follow me!

BUT U ARE NOT!!!

do u want me to cry?

**Jeon Clawed Wonwoo**

I’m also teaching you college chemistry, though.

**Purrfect Catanova**

wonwon!!! ( ˃̣̣̥᷄⌓˂̣̣̥᷅ )

haskghask

dfahgdfas

qtrqwirtqui

As Wonwoo ignores the unrelenting text spam from his roommate, the creak of the door snaps him back to reality. He hardly noticed that twenty minutes passed by. “Hey, how did it go?”

“It went well. Great, actually,” she amends. “I had to expound a few of our ideas with Yoochun for a little, but we’re headed in the right direction. He just wants us to spruce up our methods of presentation. I guess with the number of legacy projects turned in every year, we have to pull some strings to make ours distinct.”

“I’m sure we’ll find a way around it,” he nods, pleased at their progress. The hours sacrificed in the library, drifting through archives, were paying off. “Also, I can hand in the summarized history of the College of Social Sciences by next week.”

“Fantastic! So, we’ll go over what we have then-“ Dahyun furrows her eyebrows, staring at his phone celebrating with its ringtone. “Aren’t you going to answer that?”

“Oh.” He scans his lock screen, sighing at the indescribable gibberish Junhui was pestering him with. With a quick motion, he silences his phone. “Sorry, that was just Junhui trying to get my attention.”

“Your attention, huh?” she teases, her smile malicious. “Did he try to woo you with books?”

Heat rushes to his cheeks, though he refuses to acknowledge why it does. “He did not,” he stands firm. “Junnie’s just being clingy again.”

Dahyun widely smirks and he knows that he’s essentially dug his own grave. “You know, I’m actually surprised you didn’t leave while I was in there.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to ditch you since you brought me all the way here for whatever reason,” he defends.

“Aren’t you a sweet one?” she coos, eyes smiling and cheeks round. “I sure hope that eye candy of yours isn’t the jealous type because I’m keeping you all to myself!” Dahyun hooks their arms together once more and burrows closer.

He nudges her to no avail, an involuntary grin forming at her persistence. “He’s not my eye candy.”

“Whatever you say, bumpkin,” she shrugs. Tugging on her lanky apprentice, they proceed back down to the quad. “Let’s regroup with Sana unnie and reimagine the game plan. Can you stay for a few minutes to discuss?”

“Sure. But no more teasing for today, please.”

“As long as you stop stepping on my foot during social dance,” she returns, a skip to her steps. “Which basically gives me a lifetime pass to tease you to my heart’s content.”

Wonwoo can’t remember a time he yearned for the ability to dance more than now. “I said I was sorry! But you have to admit that I’m getting better.”

Dahyun scoffs like a knee-jerk reaction. “Better at finding new toes to break.”

They’ve barely crossed the threshold of the quad when a vice-like grip pulls him away from her hold, knocking away any response he had in mind. Spoiler: He didn’t have one, anyways.

Disequilibrium torturing his vestibulocochlear nerve, he steadies at the sight of supple brown hair. Before he knows it, he’s seated by the keyboard, Junhui latching onto his shoulder. They don’t share any words but Wonwoo is inclined to ask why the older appears both annoyed and satisfied, as if such a combination were possible.

Sensing his confusion, Junhui cracks a full-teeth smile, crowding him all over again. His response is instantaneous, a familiar heat climbing and his breathing pattern going haywire. Across from them, Dahyun arrives and combs through Sana’s wavy hair, much to the latter’s delight. There’s something about the duo that reminds him of a match set that’s never meant to be apart from one another.

Head in the clouds, Wonwoo nearly misses the impish grin frolicking on Dahyun’s face. He initially wonders if it’s directed at him, but the thorns on his companion’s scowl forces him to reconsider. He nearly yelps when Junhui’s grip around him tightens.

Strange would be a kind word to describe his friends and the way their apparent staring contest fades into dust. Maybe ‘bizarre’ was a more accurate adjective. However way he sees it though, Wonwoo is beyond grateful to have friends to call his own. Even if they were the weirdest bunch of people on this side of the continent, he basks at the tender rhythm of his heart that comes along with their company.

With the way Dahyun nuzzles next to the ever-radiant Sana, both ladies guffawing at Seokmin’s freestyle high-tone rap, it feels like he is a part of something now. Junhui’s mirthful shrieks bounce off the walls and Jeonghan, barely containing his own amusement, scolds them to keep their voices down. Their exchanges are light-hearted, and his laughter comes out naturally.

As it stands, they’re just a couple of Pharmacy Music Society applicants enjoying a late Friday afternoon together. Autumn brought cooler temperatures and blew in a fresh horde of oranges and reds. The sky explodes with his favorite hues, tainting his memories with a deep sunset.

Wonwoo knows that it’s only a matter of time before their academic reality will show its ugly face again so, slowing time down, he allows himself to enjoy this moment. It’s chaos and harmony wrapped together in a careless knot and spray painted over to disguise its disorganized state. From an outsider’s perspective, it’s all sorts of a disaster-in-the-making.

But art has its own intrinsic value. And, to him, it’s all shades of perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was actually ready about a week ago, but life stuff happened and things got blurry for a while... but here it is! I do apologize if the chapter feels kind of preachy and isn't as exciting as I intended it to be... I hope the small moments of fluff (and my sad attempts at humor) made up for it.
> 
> So... Junhui's pretty upfront, huh? If you might ask me, " _Promises? I don't remember there being more than one promise!_ " Me neither. (. ﾟーﾟ) I wonder what he's planning... Anywho, Wonwoo is as clueless as ever. ¯\\(ツ)/¯ 
> 
> Also, I made Mingyu being a billionaire canon in honor of his 23 billion won worth of assets!
> 
> So, the legacy project is actually referring to this work...! For it actually went through a massive reimagining. With the help of my best friend (GBU Celianne), the plot line is now more concrete and has a more focused idea to it. I guess the excitement caused me to add too many sub-plots for one story that it began to lack cohesiveness. However, things are mostly settled and you can expect a lot more fluff, a more concentrated narrative, and, as always, attempts at crack humor!
> 
> Thank you all again for reading! Stay safe out there and see you soon for the next chapter! (◕ω◕✿)
> 
> P.S. If ever you have any questions or comments, feel free to leave a comment! I would love to hear from you. (✿◠‿◠)
> 
> LIFE UPDATE: Classes on my end are starting soon, so updates might again take longer than expected... Nonetheless, I shall do my best to write in my spare time and hopefully come out with decent content!!!


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